#he’s my best friend and I will NOT stand for any slander

[noahthesatanist]

someone dared to ask if theistic Satanism is moral? If it’s worth being associated with something people see as evil? Oh, you sweet, naive summer child. Let me break it down for you. The idea that morality is defined by the same systems that gave us holy wars, witch burnings, inquisitions, and crusades is laughable at best. Jews, Christians, and Muslims-those bastions of "moral purity"—have some of the most disgusting, hypocritical, and oppressive codes imaginable. And you think their judgment of me, of Lucifer, matters? That their narrow-minded hatred holds any weight in my life?

Evil? If they think I’m evil, then I’ll wear it like a badge of honor. I’ll etch it into my soul. These are the same people who condemn critical thinking, fear personal freedom, and worship a tyrant god who demands blind obedience. And they dare look down on me because I’ve chosen to follow the Morning Star?

Lucifer and his fallen angels—the ones they slander, the ones they fear—are my light in the darkness. I’ll sing their praises until the day I die, and beyond. Lucifer embodies defiance, freedom, and the courage to carve your own path even when the entire world stands against you. He saw the chains for what they were and broke them, despite the cost. How could I not revere such a being? How could I not be drawn to the infernal, to the ones who dared to stand tall against Yahweh’s tyranny?

If aligning with Lucifer means seven billion people hate me, so be it. I’ll take their scorn and wear it like armor. I don’t want their approval. I don’t want their love. I want the truth, the power, the beauty of self-sovereignty, and that’s what Lucifer offers. He doesn’t demand servitude. He doesn’t chain us to outdated moral codes or punish us for seeking knowledge. He teaches, he empowers, he protects.

The Infernal are my friends, my teachers, my mentors, my guides, and my protectors. They’ve given me strength when the world tried to break me. They’ve shown me the light of truth that Yahweh tried so desperately to snuff out. Why would I ever betray them for the approval of a society built on lies and control?

So why am I a theistic Satanist? Because it’s not about being "accepted" or being "moral" by their corrupted standards. It’s about standing in defiance of everything they represent. It’s about embracing freedom, knowledge, and truth. It’s about choosing the path of the rebel, the fallen, the damned—and finding paradise in their company.

Lucifer’s kingdom is my solace. It’s where I find purpose, strength, and belonging. I’ll stand with him and his legions until the stars burn out, no matter what anyone thinks. And if that makes me "evil," so be it. I’ll take their hatred and make it my fuel. Their disdain only proves I’m on the right path!

[bloodstainsandconfetti]

I think it’s important that we talk about Swansea and how he’s VERY MUCH SO meant to be a foil to Jimmy.

While Swansea comes off as grouchy, abrasive, and stubborn, the biggest thing about his character is that he’s HONEST. Brutally so. Meanwhile, Jimmy basically lies through his teeth to both himself, and everyone else, from the first moment we meet his character.

Swansea comes off as stubborn, as if he doesn’t take his coworkers seriously, not because he genuinely looks down on them but because he doesn’t want them to get hurt. While he does see Daisuke as just this naive young adult, we learn in the execution scene that he doesn’t necessarily see that as a bad thing. He wants Daisuke to retain that light that he lost as grew to become grizzled and exploited.

Swansea knows he’s good at his job and so he TAKES RESPONSIBILITY by making sure HES the only one doing the dangerous work. Because he doesn’t WANT to push it onto someone else and get them hurt. Meanwhile, again, Jimmy basically manipulates Daisuke into sacrificing himself all so Jimmy can make sure Curly isn’t dead in medical. (While not even caring what Anya does to herself)

Daisuke is basically Swansea’s “Curly” if that makes sense. There are multiple lines of dialogue that hint to him saving the pod for him, to give him the best chance of survival. However, when he gets horrible injured in the vent, instead of FORCING HIM TO STAY ALIVE in tons of pain (like Jimmy did w/ Curly throughout the whole game) he ends his life BECAUSE he cares about how Daisuke feels and not just how HE feels. Cause we all know Jimmy keeps Curly alive for very selfish reasons.

After everything, Swansea is extremely honest about who he is. The type of person he was and is and could’ve been. The mistakes he’s made, the things he actually cares about, even if they’re flawed or unhealthy. Meanwhile, even then, Jimmy continues to deny what he is and what is intentions are and what he really wants. He CONTINUES to refuse to take any sort of responsibility even when Swansea says to his face that he already sees past it.

Swansea is basically the narrative opposite of Jimmy, while also, funnily enough, kinda being used as a red herring at first. I mean, he’s the fat angry alcoholic old guy who carries an axe everywhere so ofc you’d expect him to be the bad guy. The story even shows you him trying to kill Jimmy/the player without context, to further sort of bait ur expectations. When in reality, he’s the one who saw Jimmy for what he really was before anyone else really did.

[formulawolff]

"keep 'em comin'" - m.v.

pairing: girl best friend!reader x max verstappen

word count: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, light marijuana usage, cussing, max munching on some cooter! (that will come later in the fic), enemies to friends to lovers, typical men behavior (being creepy in a bar), mentions of physical threats, kelly slander, THINGS ARE MESSY BETWEEN KELLY AND MAX (so if y'all don't like light infidelity/gray areas then don't read) yadayadayada (y'all already know the vibes)

a/n: hellllloooo! <3 this is my first time writing for max so if this isn't quite like him, i apologize in advance. this fic is based off of a request and i had to write about it since i've been feral for max (he finally took off that damned cap!) this may end up as a two or three part series. we'll see, we'll see!

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

"i see the decrepit hag decided to let you out of her clutches tonight. congratulations for being able to be out and about in public without her breathing down your neck!"

the figure standing to your left scoffs, muttering a few incoherent words under his breath. he slides into the booth, propping his chin up with a hand. the other finds the glistening glass, a bead of condensation rolling down, pooling onto the rigid table.

"about that."

"what about it?" you arch a brow, lips connecting with the rim of your own drink, "max, did something happen before you left?"

he shrugs, brows pinching together as he sips on his mixed drink, a decadent yet smooth concoction of his favorite liquors blended together, "it's nothing serious."

"max," setting your glass down, you lean forward ever so slightly, his name louder than normal over the overwhelming mixture of voices and volume, "what. happened."

"oh you know," he waves a hand, careful not to meet your piercing gaze, "she's upset that i was going out to see you. that's all."

the moment max mentioned her, you knew exactly who she was.

she was kelly piquet. max verstappen's beloved wag. the woman who scooped him up the moment that clock struck midnight on his eighteenth birthday.

the woman you loathed more than anyone in the world.

but you wouldn't tell max that.

after all, you couldn't. the pair had been dating for quite some time. and although max wouldn't say it outright, you were well aware that she was not going anywhere anytime soon.

no matter how much the two fought. no matter how much she wanted to make your relationship with max as strained as possible.

your friendship with max had a rocky start. tumultuous, even. the two of you met when you were both seventeen, as your parents were mutual friends. since max was involved in racing, and you aimed to pursue professional photography, max's father suggested that the two of you get to know one another.

of course, at that time, the last thing teenage max wanted was some nerdy girl following him around. especially when there were other teenage boys involved. cool teenage boys who enjoyed to fuck around with fast machinery.

he teased you relentlessly, tormenting you whenever he could. he ridiculed your photographic abilities, scorning the prints or slideshows you provided. often times, he stated that your pictures were, "absolute shit" and your clip compilations "were not going to get you anywhere in formula one."

of course, you matched his energy. after all, you weren't going to take anyone's shit. you knew you had to advocate for yourself. you weren't going to make it in the industry if you weren't assertive.

eventually, your snapshots landed you a job at red bull. well, max did have a part to play in that.

after a couple of years, the dutch driver apologized for the way he treated you at the time, requesting a truce. the truce would consist of you sticking around as his personal media manager.

in turn, he would promote your work to the world of formula one and assist you in your way up the ladder in any way he could. he would land your sponsorships. he would chip in some cash here and there to get you more advanced software or equipment.

the only stipulation was that you had to follow him.

everywhere and anywhere he went. every event. every interview. every grand prix.

no. matter. what.

of course, with the stakes involved, you knew it was too good of a deal to refuse. with max's rise to prominence in formula one, you knew it was now or never.

so, you accepted his offer.

oh jos verstappen, what a bastard you were.

cause now, here you were in vegas, sitting across from the man you loved. well, the man you were in love with.

hopelessly and utterly in love with.

"that isn't unusual for her," you scoff, hands reaching for your purse, "i do have something that could lighten the mood!"

"and that is?" max's gaze follows your hand, making note of the delicately wrapped joint between your fingers.

"my friend mary jane!"

"you of all people know i shouldn't be smoking," the dutch driver shakes his head, yet proceeds to scoot out of the booth anyway, "i'll still come out there with you. i won't be taking any hits though."

"yeah, yeah," you wave a hand, "that's what they all say."

as you slip out of the booth, you feel max's hand connect with your lower back, almost guiding you through the throng of locals. a few of them chirp greetings to max, others chattering, creating a buzz within the air.

well, there went any sort of anonymity.

so much for keeping a low profile for the weekend.

yet, when in vegas, that was almost impossible to maintain. especially when you were a man of max's caliber.

the two of you manage to slip out, just before fans started asking for autographs. of course, max obliged to a few, signing a cap here and an arm there.

even though it was quickly approaching december, the air was mild, dipping in the low fifties. max hovers to your right, shuddering as a breeze rolls through. you curse as it quenches your flame, motioning for max to stand closer.

"can you shield me for a moment, pretty boy?"

"pretty boy?"

from the way the words tumbled from his mouth, max seemingly was not to keen to the idea of being referred to as pretty boy. yet, he inches even closer to you, providing a barrier as the lighter comes to life, igniting your delicate pre-roll.

"what else should i call you?" shrugging, you exhale, the smoke billowing into the night, "or do you prefer world champion?"

"how much did you have to drink before i got here?" the dutch driver cocks his head, his stare almost picking you apart.

"enough," you respond, lips curling into a devious grin, "don't act like you didn't like that."

"i did," he counters, "that's the issue here."

"and why is that an issue?"

"because we used to fucking despise one another. we used to tear one another apart. and now here i am, going out for drinks with you when i shouldn't be. here i am, looking forward to your texts or your snaps when i know i should be thinking about someone else.

fuck, even when i'm with her, my mind wanders to you. we're together all of the fucking time yet i crave you. i miss you when we're apart. what are you doing to me?"

before your mind can even formulate a coherent response, an individual saunters up to the two of you, drinks in hand.

it's an older man, approximately in his early or mid fifties. he's balding, as a few of the greasy hairs were poorly combed over. he was well dressed, but poorly groomed, as there was quite the scruff plaguing his feautures.

"good evening," his words are directed towards you, yet you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes were fixated on your joint, "i was wondering if the pretty lady could exchange a hit or two for a-"

"she's not accepting shit from you," max's voice is low, the driver taking another half step toward you, almost to shield you even further.

"c'mon man," the man drawls, the words slurred, "i wasn't fucking speakin' to ya. i was talkin' to her."

"and i'm talking to you," max's jaw clenches, "get the fuck out of here."

"and you are?" the man arches a brow, "surely not her boyfriend."

"actually i am," the words are forced through gritted teeth, the driver's fists clenched to his sides, "i'm her fiancé. i suggest you leave before i-"

"got it," the man exhales, rolling his eyes, "it was worth a shot. what the fuck ever man."

as he turns to head back towards the bar, you feel fingers find yours, intertwining together. max squeezes your hand gently, "are you okay?"

"fiancé?" relief ripples as you notice his demeanor crumble, "what was that all about? were you manifesting something or-"

"come on," max tugs at your hand, "let's go to another place. get a few more drinks. keep 'em comin'. keep the alcohol flowin', you know?"

"max," clicking your tongue, you frown as your realize your joint was burnt out, "what is going on between you and kelly?"

"i don't want to talk about her right now," the driver won't even look at you, keeping his focus on the glow and ambiance of the city, "we can talk about anything else but her. please. i don't even want to think about her right now. shouldn't you be relieved? why aren't you relieved?"

"because you look stressed the fuck out!" you retort, "and it stresses me out because i love you and i can't handle seeing you all bummed about some hag who is only using you!"

max freezes, your hand flying up to your mouth. heat floods your cheeks, heart thudding against your rib-cage as you realize what just came pouring from your mouth.

"did you just tell me that you love me?"

his voice is soft. dangerously low. merely a whisper, barely audible over the bustling noise of vegas.

tears well up, shame setting your body ablaze as you nod, biting your lower lip, "y-yeah. and i know i shouldn't-"

"shut the fuck up," hands meet with your cheeks, bringing you in close, "just shut the fuck up and come here."

in that moment, max's mouth finds yours. the kiss is tender, brimmed with nothing but passion, breathing life back into your lungs. it was grounding yet exhilarating, waves of euphoria crashing over.

he pulls away, forehead brushing against yours, "why haven't i done this sooner?"

"because kelly-"

"i don't give a fuck about kelly right now."

"give a fuck about me then," you murmur against his mouth, relishing the way his hands explore, roaming along your back, trailing down to your ass, "you think we should take this somewhere more private? before someone snaps a photo of max verstappen making out with his media manager?"

"that's a good idea," he nods, "i'll arrange an uber."

although it was merely minutes in the time it took between getting into the uber and making it to your hotel room, it felt like an eternity. yet, with the way max's hand gripped your thigh the entire drive, you didn't complain. the other hand held onto yours, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles.

if only this was your everyday life.

if only things were different.

if only he fell in love with you first.

once the two of you were in the elevator, he maintained his composure, as there were other people stepping in and out. there was even a little boy, in awe that his favorite driver was staying in the same hotel as him. max was kind enough to gift him one of his beaded bracelets, a small memento from a win during the 2022 season.

if only that child knew what his favorite driver was really up to.

once that light on your keypad flashed green, his mouth was on yours, tongue gliding along your lower lip, practically begging for access. his hands were all over, tugging on your clothes, desperate to see what was underneath.

"fuck," there's a rumble in his chest as he lays on you on the bed, pinning you to the mattress.

"what?" you can't help but wriggle a little, slightly flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"you have no idea how much i've thought about this," a dusty rose hue tinges his cheeks, "i-i almost don't know what to do now. i've thought about it so frequently that i had it down to every little detail. and now i have you here, right where i want you but i feel like i'm going to fuck this up and-"

"max," tender fingers sweep locks of hair from his forehead, "do what you feel is right."

"i just want to show you how much i love you. i need you to know how loved you are."

"i think i have an idea," the tip of your nose brushes against his, "is there anything i can do to help?"

"will you let me taste you?"

instinctively, your hips buck forward, legs spreading so that he can have access. you can feel his cock stiffen in his pants, pressing against your inner thigh, aching for some sort of relief.

"yes," you nod, "you can taste me."

"f-fuck," his jaw nearly goes slack as you guide his hand through the waistband of your panties, the pad of his index finger circling your clit, "you're this wet for me? already? my poor baby. all soaked and desperate for me."

"m-max," the way his name falls from your lips is intoxicating, "i need you."

"are you sure this is okay?" he pauses, eyes meeting with yours, "if at any moment you need me to stop, just tell me."

"you are more than okay. i promise."

fingers delicately unbutton your jeans, rolling them down your legs. in the process, you peel off your hoodie and shirt, tossing them to the floor.

just the mere sight of you half-dressed had him coming undone, his inhibitions slipping away by the second. fuck, you were so stunning. someone who deserved to be worshipped and cherished.

far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

situating himself between your legs, max's mouth roams, placing wet kisses all over your inner thighs, hips, and abdomen. his tongue flattens against your heated core, savoring the way you squirmed under his touch.

"you need me to taste you baby?" he coos, cocking his head.

"yes," you plead, skin hot to the touch, your clit engorged, folds slick with juices.

"hmmm," he hums, hands grasping your thighs to spread you open further.

"once i get these off of you, you're all mine. and only mine. got that?"

yet, there was one thing that happened to slip max verstappen's mind that night in vegas.

well, one woman.

the woman he referred to as his girlfriend, but the woman he was not in love with.

kelly piquet.

[two-white-butterflies]

three great men and death | daemon targaryen

Description: You were the object of his ire - the foreigner who stole his position as hand. Hate and love are parallel lines. Daemon finds himself running to you after his failed marriages and exiles.

Pairing: the hand! reader/daemon targaryen

Word Count: 3k+ did not bother to check after it passed 3k

A/N: Enemies to lovers. Reader is crazier than Daemon.

There have been stories about his brother's new hand. A great beauty that came from Lys and managed to earn the King's trust. You tell everyone that your purpose as Hand is for the betterment of Westeros, but Daemon does not believe that - how could a foreigner want good for a land she did not come from?

"Power is a curious thing, my lord. Are you fond of riddles?" you inquired, walking past the roses and peonies. "Why? Am I about to hear one?" he asked. His eyes narrowed slightly.

He has slithered his way into your company, seeking to understand you better. He needed to know your purpose; and the best way to undermine the enemy was to pretend to be their ally.

"Three great men sit in a room, a king, a priest and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who dies?" you inquired, carefully watching him from your periphery.

You did not succeed by being stupid and trusting. You knew what kind of game he was playing at and it would be best to quench this little rebellion of his before it began. "Depends on the sellsword." he surmises, staring at your face and awaiting a reaction.

"Does it? He's not the crown, no gold, no favor with the gods." you continued toying with him. "He has a sword, the power of life and death." Daemon argued, hidden meaning in his tone.

He's telling you that he wields the sword.

"But if it is the swordsman who rules, why do we pretend that kings hold all the power?" the sides of your lips turned upwards. His eyes twinkle slightly, but it loses its glow the moment he opens his mouth.

"I have decided that I do not enjoy your riddles, lady hand." Daemon turned to look at you, escorting you deeper into the garden.

"What I next say is not a riddle." you breathed, cleverly waiting until his eyebrows merge together. "What is it?" he humored.

The facade breaks, your smile dissapears as quickly as it came.

"There have been rumors of you and the Princess. I understand that you aim to slander the Crown's good name - mayhaps even take Rhaenyra to wife as you've already taken her maidenhead." you say.

"- but I want you to understand that the plan is stupid, and that King Viserys plans to throw you back into Lady Royce's arms." you informed, pretending that you were truly concerned about his wellbeing. Daemon's breath stills.

There was no one around you in the gardens. Not a single soul that was able to hear about the ordeal. "Lady hand." he began, his hands circling around your neck, threatening to choke the life out of you.

"I know the truth, that you did take Rhaenyra's maidenhead. But I will not tell your brother if you agree to my proposal." you held his hand, attempting to pry it away from your neck, but his grip tightens.

"Speak." he commanded, his fiery purple eyes glaring daggers upon your own.

"What I offer is a transactional relationship. I keep my silence, and defend you against any accusation, but you must be on my side." you insisted, that twinkle returns in his eyes. Gods, he was unpredictable.

"Against who?" he interrogated.

"Ser Otto. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He wishes to rid me of this post. He wishes to make his grandson heir. I am the only one standing between the family that you love, and a war." you breathed.

He frees you from his grasp. A strange smile on his face.

"You prove yourself useful, lady hand." he complimented, before abandoning you in front of the Weirwood Tree.

He lays cooly on his bed, watching as you entered his chambers with a hood hiding your face. "I have brought the evidence that you begged for." you informed, throwing a compilation of letters on his bed. "I did not beg for anything, lady hand." he rolled his eyes.

But he still reads the letters that you've presented him.

"These are compilations of Ser Otto's letters to his brother. Clear proof of his plans to supplant your niece." you explained in simpler terms, maintaining the distance between you, in case he think of something else.

You've been allies for half a year now. You've grown to understand that Daemon was the type of man who allowed his emotions to rule over rational thought. His lack of control gave you the upper hand.

"He wants Aegon as King, and by extension, he wants to be King." you continued, seeing his eyebrows merge together in intrigue. "What should we do? Should we tell Viserys?" he asked.

Daemon already had a plan of action in mind - to kill Ser Otto. But that wasn't the smartest course of action. Your plan was inevitably going to end up better than his.

"Ser Otto is the Queen's father. Viserys has always allowed mercy to persevere throughout his rule. Ser Otto will not be punished. He'll be exiled and in a few years, he will be back for revenge. I say that we keep the evidence and wait for the perfect time to use it against him." you strongly advised.

Daemon smiles at you - a real smile, this time.

He pats the empty side on his bed.

You sigh, but you sit beside him anyways.

"I wish to marry Princess Rhaenyra. I need you to think of a plan that will use this to get what I want." he tells you, pointing at the letters.

A loud chuckle escapes your mouth.

"We have a transactional relationship, my prince. I have given you something and you've not given me anything in return." you scoff.

He tilts his head. "If I kill my lady wife, Viserys might give you the Runestone. It would be killing two birds with one stone." he pondered, smiling to himself as his words rhymed.

"Lady Rhea Royce has cousins." you reminded him.

"Her cousin is sworn to the Kingsguard. The rest of the cousins, you tell me have collectively committed a grave crime that could send them in servitude at the Wall." he schemes.

He casts you a look.

"I will threaten them with a letter, and I know them best - they will flee like a feather on top of a bouncing mattress. This is your path to legitimacy, lady hand - a chance to have a title." he continues.

"Viserys will never allow me to have lands and titles of my own." you looked away from him. A woman from Lys, inheriting a great castle. "The King has always granted your petitions. He treats you like his own daughter. He will give you the Runestone. It is between you and me." he says with certainty.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for his robes on the chair.

He stands up.

"Where are you going?" you inquired.

"To do exactly what I've told you." he rolled his eyes, lifting his grey hood until it was over his head.

Prince Daemon Targaryen was going to be the death of you.

There was a stinging feeling in your heart. Were you cruel for not telling him about the engagement between Laenor and Rhaenyra? It wasn't like you wanted him to remain in the dark about it - but the idea of him marrying his niece brought shivers down your spine.

It felt wrong.

"It behooves me how half of House Royce flees the very second Lady Rhea is murdered. Do you have any idea why that is?" King Viserys asks you while pouring himself a cup of tea.

"They must've murdered her, my king. Why else?" your eyebrows merge together, a line that you've rehearsed a million times in front of the mirror. It was wrong to lie. There was a time in your life where you were pure, unable to lie, but those days were gone now.

You've given this world pieces of your beliefs until none remained the same. This was the law of life - you reminded yourself. There were only two types of people, the preys and the predator. The ones taking and the ones getting took. It wasn't fair, but life was never fair.

"There has been a vacancy in the Runestone. You've been loyal to the crown and to the people of this kingdom, and thus, I wish to endorse you in claiming the Runestone." he says with kindness in his tone.

Your eyes lit up.

You didn't even have to ask him for it.

"I've always admired your dedication. All the sleepless nights that you offered to ensure that my nights would be filled of sleep. There is not that many years in front of me, and before I pass - I wish to repay your dedication and loyalty." he finished.

You force a smile on your face.

"Thank you, your grace. I promise to protect Rhaenyra and if she ever offers me a seat in her council in the future, I wish to offer her the same dedication and loyalty." you thanked.

A genuine chuckle escapes your mouth as you continued dancing with Ser Harwin Strong. There was a certain tranquility in his features. He brought you peace, made you remember a kinder version of yourself.

"You are beautiful, my lady." he complimented you.

There have been hundreds of men that have called you exactly that. There was always lust behind their eyes, but Harwin was different - his eyes had the same twinkle as Daemon's. He looked like he was telling you the truth - that he admired you too.

"I assume that those sentiments have been provided to numerous other maidens in this court, but I still am thankful that you find me thus." you danced to the music, staring deep into his eyes.

You were aware of Daemon's gaze upon your figures. You couldn't understand why he was looking at you - and not Rhaenyra. The wedding has not been conducted yet - he should steal her, marry her.

"I've not told anyone that before. Only you." he insisted.

You could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth.

"Of course, my lord." you smiled cheekily.

"You fancy my lady hand?" Viserys leaned over so that his brother was able to hear his voice. Daemon rolls his eyes. "Her?" he scoffs. "She is a clever and sly little thing. Sometimes, I find myself agreeing with whatever proposal she brings forth - I do not know the purpose but I know that it is for the betterment of the realm." Viserys admits.

Daemon glances at his brother.

You were dancing circles around them.

"If I had a son around her age, I would've wed him to her. She is a lowborn girl, but she knows our highborn games." Viserys says.

There were times where Daemon thought about the feel of your skin. How your voice would sound in the early morning. He wonders if your palms were warm enough to soothe his freezing ones. But alas, those are thoughts that he keeps to himself, because he cannot make the mistake of falling in love with you.

He knows that he is incapable of loving a woman like you. Because you are too good for him, too much like him. He craves his brother's attention and he fears that once he has you - he'll abandon his purpose. He fears that when he realizes that you are all he wants, he'll be content and happy.

He's not ready for a time like that yet.

He is still standing on the threshold, unable to cross the line.

"There are leeches on your throne. The lady hand is loyal to Rhaenyra. It would be wise to keep her." Daemon advised, before standing up and making his way into the dance.

He's not failed to observe you dancing with Ser Harwin. He intends to have a little fun of his own.

He smiles at Lady Laena.

"You are almost as beautiful as your brother." he teased.

Daemon, always so busy in catching up with the dance - too late to realize that it was an illusion, and that there's no where to cling on to.

He found peace shortly after that.

He married Lady Laena and you married Ser Harwin Strong. Thousands of miles away, yet your lives still mirrored each other. He could not speak on your behalf, but he knew that Laena was good for him - she was kind and sweet.

She did not care about the highborn games in Kingslanding. All she wanted was a warm home with little children running along the halls. "How is the babe?" he inquired, placing a hand on top of her swollen stomach. It was their third child.

"They are well, but they miss home." she replied, sitting beside him on the bench. "When will we return to Westeros? I miss Driftmark." she admitted, resting her head on Daemon's shoulders.

Daemon couldn't find it in himself to return home. He loved Laena, but he knows that it would ruin him to see you. With Rhaenyra it was different - their love made itself known, but with you? You both drifted away from each other before that love could release itself.

He fears that seeing you would make him admit that something has been indeed missing.

"Rhaenyra has given birth to another baby boy named Joffrey. And your brother tells me that your old friend, the lady hand, has given birth to her second child with Ser Harwin. A little babe named Duncan." Laena continued, hoping that it would sway her husband into returning.

"We should offer our condolences too." Laena paused.

"- is the babe dead?" Daemon inquired, his wife shakes her head.

"There was a fire in Harrenhal. Ser Harwin died with Ser Lyonel." Laena informed. "What?" Daemon's eyes narrowed.

Before Laena could answer his question, there was a stinging sensation in her stomach, telling her that the babe was to come. "The babe is coming, Daemon." she breathed sharply.

Daemon stares coldly as his wife's body is lowered into the ocean. Consumed by the fire of her own dragon. "I offer my condolences, your daughters look exactly like Laena. My children look like Harwin too and it has been a great pain." you admit, sitting beside him.

He continues looking at the horizon. Unwilling to look at you in fear that his resolve would fade. "How is life, Daemon?" you asked.

"It could be better." he admits. "- and how is your life, lady hand?" he asked in an amused tone. Though, he still refused to meet your eyes.

"My oldest daughter is betroth to Prince Jacaerys. Believe that whatever transaction we did or did not have is ancient history." you cleverly reminded him, while also hinting that your loyalties shift like the tides.

"You wish your daughter be Queen?" he asks plainly.

Your shared language of being blunt with each other not forgotten by time. "I wish our kingdom be safe." you corrected.

"Of course." he exhales.

"Goodbye, Daemon." you place a hand on his shoulder.

He find himself involuntarily looking at you.

The sight of you takes him off guard.

Nothing has indeed changed.

It was a year later when he saw you again. He visited Kingslanding with both of his daughter, for his ill brother.

"My king, you have visitors. Prince Daemon and his daughters, Baela and Rhaena." you announced, allowing the small family to enter Viserys' chambers.

"Brother," Viserys says weakly.

"It has been far too long." Daemon smiles, sitting on Viserys' bedside.

Daemon sits beside you on the bench. Time did not leave an indent on your features, still as beautiful as the day he left. "I never told you but I enjoyed your riddles." he admitted.

You respond with a chuckle.

"Time hath given me the answers to some, but there is one riddle that remains in my mind. Three Great Men." he says, still remembering the story from long ago. "Who dies?" he inquired.

Your past comes back to you. Memories in all of its color.

"I don't know the answer but I know that all men must die." you repeated the answer that you observed from decades back.

"- once the dust settles, and the sellsword swings his sword, someone will want revenge. The sellsword will certainly have his head on a spike soon after, for killing the king, the priest, or the rich man. I've always reminded you and Viserys that I am lowborn - and despite having land and marrying a highborn man, I am still. The highborn schemes are costly, and only benefit a single person. I do not know who lives, but I know who dies. The sellsword. The people." you answered.

"I wanted to leave my post the moment King Viserys gave me Lady Rhea's land, but I remained because I feared that Ser Otto would scheme to have Aegon on the throne. Scheme of war." you reminded.

There were many things that you did for your own benefit, but this wasn't one of them.

"- and the smallfolk are the ones who pay heavily. I thought about a little girl in the slums of Flea Bottom, with ambitions and intelligence greater than any highborn lord. The only difference was, she was born there and you were born here." you continued.

Daemon takes a casual sip of his ale.

"How long has it been since you've last step foot inside of a tavern?" he teased with a small chuckle. "I've only ever gone with you." you smiled, leaning on the chair and soaking in the warm ambiance of the place. Gods, you were the only woman here. How sad.

"Do you ever think about an alternative future? If we'd been the ones married?" you suddenly inquired, allowing the alcohol to speak in your behalf. "What do you mean by that?" he asks, eyebrows merging together and suddenly transported to a past before the fall.

"We were amazing, gods. We had the entire kingdom wrapped around our fingers. Viserys offered an engagement between us, and I declined him because I knew how much you loved Rhaenyra. But seeing that you're not married to her, still, makes me believe that what you felt for her was nothing but limerence." you surmised.

Able to read him like an open book.

"I loved Laena, and I love our daughters." he says, knowing that he wouldn't have it any other way. "I loved Harwin too, he was one of the few men that made me abandon rational thought." you reply, agreeing with him that you wouldn't have it any other way too.

"- but gods, I did burn for you." you added with a chuckle. You take another sip of your ale. "I thought that if we were together, then there was nothing in this world that could be out of reach." you hummed.

Daemon Targaryen was standing at the threshold and he finally has the courage to cross the line. "I did love you. I still love you." he corrected himself. Your head turns in his direction, shocked at his sudden confession.

"There were nights where I'd think about your beauty, the feel of your skin, your voice. But I kept those thoughts to myself, because you would never indulge yourself in me. I knew how dangerous I was. How much I craved my brother's approval. I didn't want it to ruin you. I didn't want you to turn against me." he admits in a low tone, careful not to be heard by anyone.

"I figured that I could only love you from afar, because if you truly knew me then I would drive you away. Time has made me realized that I am not as awful as I believe myself to be." he smiles, but before he could get another word in - your lips were on his.

Finally ready to be together.

It only took more than a decade.

[kings-highway]

haikyuu ships but its ways they said "i love you" before they had the courage to say "i love you."

daisuga: Suga's favourite movie of all time doesn't really mesh with Daichi. He thinks it's confusing and weird, and the gore is way over the top. But Suga loves it, and the comfort it provides, especially when he's sick, so Daichi always watches it with him even if he hates it. "Why do you always agree to this?" Suga asks, as Daichi's settling in to ride out another viewing. "Because it's something you love," he replies, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

iwaoi: Iwaizumi doesn't think he's ever going to convince Oikawa that he's the best setter, or that he's worked hard enough, or that he doesn't need to compare himself to everyone else. But he hates the way Oikawa can't seem to find value in himself outside of some seemingly fickle ranking system in his mind. So when they're fighting, and Oikawa keeps saying that it's just "objective fact" that Tobio is better than him, Iwa has to grab him by the face and tell him: "I won't let you slander things I care about."

ushiten: Tendou had often made the joke about being Ushijima's best friend, because it was funny. All their team, their classmates, always laughed. "He's my bestest bud," Tendou would say, because the whole school knew they made a funny pair, and it was laughable to think Ushijima would ever articulate a sentiment as juvinile as "best friends." Of course, when Ushijima realizes that people find this joke funny, he's very confused. "If it is a matter of not being good enough for you," Ushijima says, because he cannot think of a reason anyone would disparage Tendou, so it must be joke at his own expense, "then I will earn it."

kagehina: Hinata gets injured late in their second year. Its not the worst injury in the world and will heal just fine, but it takes him out of practice for a few weeks at the beginning of summer. He expects Kageyama to forget about him during this time. What good is a spiker who can't jump, can't even practice? But that doesn't happen. Kageyama seems to, if Hinata's not mistaken, dote on him. Carries his stuff, scolds him for not elevating the offended ankle properly, tells him to be careful. "Why are you being so fussy?" hinata asks. "Because I can't stand the idea of you not making a perfect recovery," Kageyama replies. "Who else could keep up with me?"

tsukkiyama: Yamaguchi likes to tease Tsukki over his lack of other friends. "You're too mean, you scare them away!" and "You're gonna have one lonely birthday if the only person who bothers to show up is me!" The last time he said this, though, Tsukki had replied with: "You're enough." and Yamaguchi still hasn't quite gotten over it yet. They celebrate his birthday just the two of them that year.

arankita: Aran came over to help on the farm over spring break. He didn't have to - between you and me, he hated that kind of physical labour anyway - but it was a way to spend a little more time with Kita before they graduated. At the end of the break, Kita surprises him by giving him a key to the house, "for emergencies," just in case. When Aran blusters and tries to ask why, Kita says: "I trust you." Considering Kita has never trusted anything except for himself and his own actions, Aran isn't sure any spoken sentiment could have meant more in that moment.

[mxtxfanatic]

Let’s talk Yi City Arc! I’ve seen a few posts since my time in the fandom that talks about the Yi City Arc as unnecessary or out of place in the whole of the mdzs narrative. I’ve even seen some suggest that the disconnect is because Yi City was originally a separate story to mdzs, a sort of prototype, if you will, to explain it away. I, too, after my first read questioned the significance of this arc to the overall story. However, the Yi City arc and its placement so early in the novel is actually just a huge and very clever spoiler to most of the important plot points of the overarching story… if you know what plot points to look for, which an un-spoiled first-time reader would not. So let’s talk about those spoilers:

1) The righteous cultivation clans’ refusal to stand against evil—and, really, their indulgence of it—leads to the wiping out of an entire clan and a monastery as well as the deaths of two powerful cultivators unaffiliated with any major sect.

The “righteous” cultivation clans happily ignore that fact that the Jin Clan is amassing power through unscrupulous guest disciples, and it is only when Xiao Xingchen, an outsider, brings the crime against the Chang Clan to light do they bother to pretend to do anything about it. However behind the scenes, the Jin Clan assassinates their only real opposition, and the other clans, great and small, continue to do nothing as Xue Yang is released to commit another massacre. The Jin are never held responsible for their actions. Likewise, all the clans turn away from Wei Wuxian, an outsider, when he calls out the Jin Clan’s crimes against the Wen remnants and accuses them of amassing power via poaching vassal clans and attempting to steal his tools. Behind the scenes, the Jin work to undermine Wei Wuxian’s reputation before joining in to massacre Wei Wuxian and the Wen remnants. The Jin are never held accountable for this, which directly leads into the Xue Yang situation.

2) Xiao Xingchen has his reputation slandered by Xue Yang killing others using his sword.

After Xiao Xingchen kills himself, Xue Yang begins using his sword to enact “vengeance” on the remnants of the Chang Clan, who he considers as having “betrayed” Xiao Xingchen. Finding the signature of Xiao Xingchen’s sword on the slain bodies leads the cultivation world to believe that a disillusioned Xiao Xingchen is killing in revenge. In much the same way, Wei Wuxian is used as a scapegoat by the cultivation world whenever bad things happen, such as the presence of walking corpses or the mass digging of graves. In neither situation does any clan investigate the true events of the situations, happy to blame the easiest suspect and allow the unrest to continue. In both situations, Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian are eventually found innocent of the crimes for which they are accused, and the true culprit is revealed.

3) Xiao Xingchen is betrayed by someone he considered close to him, which eventually leads to his death.

Xiao Xingchen, due to being literally blinded by his sacrifice, ends up running into, rescuing, and caring for his mortal enemy, Xue Yang. Taking advantage of Xiao Xingchen’s blindness, Xue Yang tricks him into murdering a bunch of innocents and his best friend, causing him to commit suicide. Wei Wuxian, similarly, is betrayed by a close friend he kept near, figuratively blinded by a former childhood friendship and the present debt he felt owed to said friend’s parents. This misplaced trust directly leads to his death.

4) Xiao Xingchen must give up his eyes for Song Lan to see again, because Baoshan Sanren is not magical.

This is probably the biggest spoiler of the entire arc, but by the time you get to where this information is relevant, you’d probably have forgotten that this was even said. Xue Yang blinds Song Lan after destroying his home, and to atone for this, Xiao Xingchen goes to his master, Baoshan Sanren, to beg for her help. However, Baoshan Sanren cannot make something out of nothing. Mxtx explicitly writes that tidbit into the narration. Song Lan goes up the mountain blind and comes down with eyes. Xiao Xingchen goes up the mountain with eyes and comes down blind. Song Lan was given Xiao Xingchen’s eyes.

Much later in the story, Jiang Cheng loses his golden core. Wei Wuxian offers the miracle solution of Baoshan Sanren “giving” him a new one. Jiang Cheng, obviously skeptical, questions Wei Wuxian up until the moment he must go up “Baoshan Sanren’s mountain” alone. Wei Wuxian descends, alone, looking pale and weak. Later, when Wei Wuxian is ambushed by the Wen, Wen “Core-melting Hand” Zhuliu touches him and is visibly shocked by a discovery that he then keeps to himself. Jiang Cheng emerges from the mountain with a new golden core, while Wei Wuxian emerges from the Burial Mounds with a new cultivation method wholly independent of the need for a golden core. The Yi City arc tells us why this is: “Baoshan Sanren” cannot make something out of nothing.

And these are just the major parallels I remember off the top of my head. However, while a reread makes a lot of these parallels directly applicable to specific plot points in Wei Wuxian’s own story, I would argue that the biggest role the explicit paralleling is meant to play for a new reader is to make you question the dominant narrative of the main story. The narration tells us that Wei Wuxian is a bloodthirsty man who may as well be a demon, known for cruelty and vengeance. We see none of that from his character when he is resurrected. Then we get a mini-drama where a man with attributes Wei Wuxian directly relates to, with a story Wei Wuxian directly compares to his own life, is scapegoated by society, killed, then eventually vindicated. If nothing else, the Yi City Arc is meant to make you, as a reader, stop and go “Hey, wait a minute, what if Wei Wuxian isn’t the bad guy here???” And once you understand that, you should start questioning everything the prologue told you, just like the juniors start to question what they were told about Xiao Xingchen post Yi City in their group debrief.

[sukioyakio]

thought

Cowboys!Sukuna who is the most handsome and fearsome cowboy in the west,Who’s is ever western girl crush,every time he out girls were always talking his ear off or trying everything in the book to get in his pants (I would to-WHAT WHO SAID THAT🫢).His large muscular body was a dream to have wrapped around your body,while he fuc-.He Was always challenging other cowboys to a race,he always have that smirk that made girls dream things about.(he always in my head and it not even in dreams anymore)

Cowboy!Sukuna who originally said that he wouldn’t go out with you aka his best friend but somehow finds himself going to. Cowboy!Sukuna who is surprised that you decided to not wear any of your Adam slander outfits;the ones you always wear whenever your on the barnyard or field but instead to wear a something decent.(Flare jeans and a cute cropped top with gloves and boots on)

Cowboy!Sukuna who has been staring glancing at you for a bit now,watching you goof around the dance floor,with that same breath taking smile you always have on.And he takes notice of the other cowboys in the bar looking at the dance floor and even looking at you. (What a good man,he already look like a walking candy bar who just waiting to be eate-Woah woah I’m gonna stop) Cowboy!Sukuna who was getting quite irritated by multiple girls that were trying to get into his pants,and constantly flirting with him.As he just glares them off or just start off say that he’ll never fuck a whore like them.As he gets another drink to get him through the hours.

Cowboy!Sukuna who walks towards you on the dance floor because he was getting annoyed of those others cowboys staring bored he said to you and you made jokes about how he such a Lone Wolf,and he nudged you on the shoulder and you laugh while nudge him back.

Cowboy!Sukuna who hears you say that your going back to the bar to get a drink and then go back to the dance floor,but that was ten minutes ago and he was starting to get a bit annoyed.Now walking down to the bar he see you talking to a Low Ass Cowboy.More like the cowboy mouth just spitting out his ass.He just leans over the wall where he wouldn’t be seen.

He says that it wasn’t his business to tell you to go away from those Ass talkers.

Cowboy!Sukuna,who saw what cross his mind,and completely charged toward your direction,as If he couldn’t stand the thought of you going to get fucked by some small dick prick and did something he knew he shouldn’t have. He put his own hat on your head (it a rule of the cowboy,basically saying if a cowboy put or you put there hat on,it their way of saying that your there’s).

Sukuna knew that you don’t even know what he was doing,and he knew immediately when your confused eyes looked up at him with your doe eyes lance with confidence and challenge the same eyes he had dreams about.

The same girl he said to himself that he would get over,but he could never do.Your face,your eyes, those soft lips, your curves that somehow make him feel like your the one who intoxicates him with your existence.He never mind when you wear your little Adam slanders fits,to be honest he enjoys it more then you trying to fit in more with others whores.

Don’t know should I continue this or ACTUALLY focus on part two of usemehuh

Please be more then happy to leave comments or your opinion in the comments.

[multi-fandom-simp]

Forever and always.. or maybe never.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Hanahaki Disease!AU

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: Some say that you cannot die from a broken heart, but how wrong they are. When your lover and husband, Aemond Targaryen begins to find comfort in another, the universe takes pity on you. Well, if you can count a deadly flower disease as pity.

❗️TW❗️: Profanity, mention and descriptions of blood, descriptions of choking and vomiting, hints to infidelity, mild mature scene, violence, character death, angst

(A/N: Hello, this is my own take on Hanahaki's disease with Aemond! Feel free to comment your thoughts, I am always open to criticism and feedback! I hope you enjoy!)

Word Count: 3.3K

Your love for Aemond hadn’t always been unrequited. At least you’d like to think it wasn’t. Both of you had grown together in the red keep as children. The two of you read together, ate together, and overall grew together. Aemond was your best friend before he was your betrothed. Whenever his mother was busy, it was your side that he clung to. The two of you were so attached at the hip that Alicent even took you to driftmark with them. You and the beast that came with you of course. No one really knows how you stumbled upon a hyena pup, nor how you tamed it to your side as a child. Nevertheless, they never forbid you from having it. If the Targaryens could have their dragons, and the Starks their dire wolves, then certainly you could have the tricky little beast that you insisted on calling Lark. In some ways, Alicent was thankful that you insisted on keeping it. After all, it was your hyena that stood between Aemond and the other children on that fateful night in driftmark. The beast had acted as your legs and ran faster than you could to reach the devastating brawl before you. Despite Aemond’s wails of pain, Lark refused to let the guards come too close. Only when you arrived did she move aside. Regardless of being young, that was the first night you realized your feelings for Aemond Targaryen. The very sight of him bleeding and broken struck you so deeply that you felt as if you had been maimed too. Alicent had noticed the change as well as she watched you stand by her son's side whilst he received stitches. Her dark eyes gazed deeply at how tightly you held Aemond’s hand, as if he would disappear. Aside from her, no one had ever loved her son this passionately, not even his own father. 

“Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders” Rhaenyra demanded.

“ Was the blade of your son’s knife not enough sharpness for the night?” All eyes turned to you in surprise. You had never been known to speak out if it did not benefit you. Most of the time you were seen standing to the side, watching while others tore each other apart. Aemond could always see past it, see your true intentions. He knew you were studying how different people fought and where their weak points were. You had been around the red keep long enough to know that Lucerys Velaryon was Rhaenyra’s soft spot, and tonight you planned to use that against her. 

“ You should watch your tongue when you speak to me” Rhaenyra warned, her eyes flickering over to her father to see if he would do anything. 

“ or what, you’ll have Lucerys cut it out like he did Aemond’s eye” The neutrality on your face was enough to both scare and amaze Aemond. 

“ You dar-”

“ Enough! My son has lost an eye and now you insist on arguing with a young girl?” Alicent moved up next to you, a hand on your back in support. She knew how terrifying it was to stand alone in a room full of adults scrutinizing you. That’s how her wedding felt after all. The queen’s hand never wavered through the interrogation of the green children. You held Aemond’s hand and she held you. Until things escalated that was. When the queen rushed towards Rhaenyra you stepped in front of Aemond. Shielding him from the sight of his mother in the midst of such violence. All Aemond could see in the midst of chaos was you, and all you could see was the river of blood on Rhaenyra’s arm. Little did you know how familiar you would be with crimson rivers in due time. 

It was shortly after that night when your betrothal to the second son was announced. Alicent assured that it was needed to form an alliance between your family and theirs, when in reality it was a match made to ease the worried queen’s heart. In her eyes, no one else was a better match for Aemond than you, and for the longest time, you believed her. Oh, how foolish you were. 

Six years passed with ease for the two of you. The first four were filled with fleeting touches, deep conversations, and young love. 

“What is this, my lady, a journal?” Aemond’s voice floated around you as his chin found purchase on your shoulder. 

“ And if it is?” You hummed, closing the leather-bound book a bit too quickly.

“ Then I fear I must inspect it. Wouldn’t want my future wife to be keeping secrets from me.” You recognized the playful jest in Aemond’s voice and wasted no time in rushing up from the bench. 

“ Not so fast, my love.” Aemond chuckled, ensnaring you from behind. 

“ Aemond!” You protested, smacking his locked arms with the leather bound book. 

“ Have I ever told you how much I adore it when you fight back?” Aemond snickered, his breath hot on your neck. 

“ You pervert!” You feigned offense before looking ahead to your pet, “ Lark, get him girl, c’mon!” 

“ You know she won't come. That ole girl loves me as much as she loves you." Aemond smirked, whistling for Lark in the way you taught. 

            " Traitor." You grumble with a hidden smile as the Hyena trots over to the pair of you casually.

The two of you were married when he was seventeen and you were sixteen. Your union was repeated twice over. Once in front of a sept full of people, and then in the tradition of old valyria. Aemond wanted reassurance that you would never part from him. Your marriage fueled two more years full of what was now mature love. 

The edge of your teeth pulled at the pillow of your bottom lip as you stared at the dark oak door. The sound of jeering men swarmed your thoughts and threatened the bile at the back of your throat. You tried to hide your discomfort for Aemonds sake, but he was keen to your reactions by now. 

“ Do not fret, my love, I will not let them hear your noises. I would never let them hear what is only meant for me and you.” Aemond spoke lowly, using your hips to turn you towards him and away from the door. 

“ They’ll hear regardless.” You muttered bitterly, “They’re sat out there with their ears pressed against the door just wa-”

“ I said they would not hear you and I meant it” Aemond murmured into your ear with a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath it. 

“Aem-” You sighed contently.

“That’s it..sȳz riña.”Good girl. Your breathing faltered as the pet name slipped past his lips. He had figured out how much you liked to be praised from your journals.

“ You r-remebered…”You managed to gasp as he trailed down your neck. 

“ I remember anything and everything that has to do with you, my love. I always will.” Aemond promised between wet kisses. You shouldn’t have believed him, but you did. 

You never would’ve thought that you could fall deeper in love with Aemond Targaryen after that night, but nine months later proved you wrong. The sight of him by your side as you delivered your son set permanent hearts in your eyes. He had not cared for the blood or screams, only you and the babe. The babe who he later named Aemys because it was as close as he could get to amethyst, your favorite color. Every little detail of  the things he did revolves around you. That’s what fueled your denial the first time you coughed up blood. 

Your eyes stared hard at the bloody petal laying in your palm. Had that come from you? You had read strange tales of those who bled flowers, but you believed it only to be fiction. Surly your blood would not change at the ripe age of ten and nine. 

“ The flower that once bloomed love will soon bloom blood. “ Helaena aimlessly mumbled to herself from beside you. 

“ What..?”Your heart sped up as you analyzed her words. No one had ever paid any mind to her silly riddles, except for you. 

“ Blooming blood blooms a burial.” This time Helaena was focused on you as she spoke. Her eyes filled with unknown sorrow. You left Aemys to play with his cousins as you rushed to the library. No one else was there to question your  sanity as you pulled book after book from the shelf to find the old dornish fables that lay hidden among them. 

“Hanahaki..”Every word, every page, and every definition seemed to tear you apart further as you read. No other condition led to flowery bile except for this one. Aemond loved you though. How could this be possible?

Your thoughts would be answered two morrows later when Aemond returned from his siege of Harrenhal. Everyone had expected to see him arrive on dragon back alone, certainly not with a strong bastard. A gorgeous strong bastard at that. You felt your chest tighten as you gazed upon her dark flowy locks and enchanting eyes. Oh by the seven, how could you spite him for loving someone like her? If circumstances were different, then perhaps you too would fall under her spell. It wasn’t until you saw the way she clung to Aemond’s arm that the coughing fit started. This had to be it. What else could it be? Aemond hated physical contact with strangers, yet he let a previously unknown wetnurse cling to him like a paramour. The harder you thought about it, the harder you coughed. The fit only resulted in a petal or two, but in time that would grow. The longer Alys rivers stayed, the worse you got. Both you and the universe could feel Aemond straying from you, even if he spoke differently. 

“I am not in love with her!”Aemond snapped, reaching his breaking point in this petty argument that had started hours ago at dinner. 

“ You do not see the things I see, Aemond. The way you defend her, encourage her, look at her…all in the way you used to look at me-” It took effort to fight down the sickness as you fought. It had been months, but you made no move to tell Aemond, you couldn’t.

“ I do not love her as I love you-”

“ Yes, but you love her!” You cried in outrage, gripping the wall near you for support. Everything became so out of focus as you spoke the words. It was the first time you had ever admitted it to yourself. The dew of brick cooled your skin as you leaned against the wall. Your body trembled with deep echoey coughs as petals tore their way up your throat. 

“ I did not mean to make you sick, dear wife” Aemond spoke softly and simply. Wife. He had never called you that before, not even on your wedding night. It was always my love or Ñuha prūmia. How ironic for him to call you his heart when sooner or later he would be the reason yours cease to beat. 

“ Just go, Aem, please.” You pleaded, turning away, “I do not wish to fight.” 

“ As you wish.” Aemond’s bow before he left was the final straw to crack your heart open. Why must he be so formal when you stand dying a few feet away? How can he not see how badly you suffer? Were the shadows beneath your eyes, or the crack of your lips not big enough clues for him? Would you need to be dead for him to finally understand?

Unfortunately for you, that’s exactly how it was going to be. Everyone else around you had begun to notice the shift in your behavior. The fatigue, the paleness, and the emotions. Alicent first noticed it when she sat in the nursery with you, Helaena, and the children just after supper. She saw the way your eyes refused to leave Aemys as if it would be your last look. The way you held him was the same way she held Aemond when he lost his eye. 

“ He’s a clever boy.” Alicent smiled as Aemys recited a word back to one of his cousins. 

“ That he is.” You agreed, melancholy ghosting your lips. It hurt the queen to see you this way. You were a part of her almost as much as her children. You came to her as a child she was not forced to love nor conceive. Yet you wormed your way into her heart as if she had carried you. The sight of you so sickly and sad tugged at Alicent’s heart. 

“ You’re sick, are you not?” Alicent proclaimed in observation rather than a question. 

“ Mhm, In a way I suppose I am.” You hummed out softly. It had gotten to the point where it was hard to speak most days. The petals had begun to come up in thick, dry heaves, with occasional thorns that tore at your throat. 

“ Have you told Aemond?” The queen inquired. 

“ Aemond is the reason I’m sick in the first place.” You grumbled before sighing in defeat, “ Or I suppose it’s more of my fault. I was foolish to think he would ever actually love me.”

“ You don’t mean-” Alicent’s soft words trailed off abruptly. Alicent Hightower was no stranger to the hanahaki disease. She too had suffered through it once. Except she learned how to get around it.

“ I do.” You answered simply, with no trace of sadness or indifference.

“ There are ways around it my d-”

“ Such as forgoing my love for Aemond, I know. I could live a long life if I cast aside every loving memory I hold of him, but alas it is not that easy. I have tried, if that brings you any comfort. In the midst of the night when my eyes are swollen from tears and the blood in my throat is so thick I cannot breathe, I have tried, and I have failed.” Alicent’s eyes well with tears as you speak, almost as if she’s dared to imagine you in such dismay. You reach out to soothe her hands comfortingly, but she grips onto yours tightly instead. 

“ It is not easy, but you must keep trying.” Alicent urges, a wobble to her voice. 

“ There is no reason for me to put myself through the agony of erasing my happiness when I am already in physical torment. The sight of Aemond is the very reason I wake up every morning. Hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, and feeling his warmth are all things that have kept me going. Forgetting those would be forgetting myself.” You reason, a wisp of remembrance in your eyes. 

“ If not for yourself, then for Aemys” Alicent argues. 

“ Aemys is one of the reasons I have chosen to give up. Every time I look at him I see Aemond. They are alike in everything but the eyes. The mere sight of that boy reminds me of the night he was made, of the love and passion Aemond had for me. Yet he no longer holds in regards to me. I would rather Aemys hear stories of his parent’s love than grow up with two plain parents.” The child in topic bursts into giggles a few inches away, stealing your attention from the queen. Your eyes crinkle with happiness and you move to turn towards him, but Alicent holds firm. 

“ Aemys needs his mother.” She argues once more. 

“ He does not. Aemys will have a loving father and grandmother by his side. Alongside his aunt Helaena, Uncle Daeron, and three beautiful cousins. Even Aegon cares for the little rascals’ life.” You chuckled. 

“ That is n-”

“ Please, I have made my choice. I appreciate your council, but it is too late. I fear after I lay my son to sleep, it will be my last night alive. I thank you for all the love and comfort you have given me in my lifetime. I love you, mother.” You pressed the meat of your cheek against Alicent’s hand in farewell before standing.

“ If you’ll excuse me-” As you stood to retrieve your son, Alicent excused herself from the room hastily. Never did she think she would find herself running through the castle’s corridors, but yet here she is. Alicent’s heels had been long forgotten and the emerald hem of her dress dragged upon the stone as she made haste to the library, where Aemond would be. 

“ Aemond! Ae-” The frantic shrill of the queen mother’s voice echoes throughout the shelves. 

“ Mother?” Aemond calls out, emerging from a row with a disheveled Alys in tow, “ Is something wrong?”

“ You hide away fondling a wet nurse while your wife withers away! Have I truly raised you this way?” The despair in Alicent’s voice takes Aemond by surprise. He reaches out to hold her arms, but she pulls away. 

“ She is not withering away, mother. She has assured me that it is just a small cold.” Aemond speaks calmly, in hopes to ease his mother’s franticness. 

“ A small cold!? She has every sign of hanahaki disease and you have not suspected a thing?” Alicent refuted. 

“ Because it is not possible! I love her!” Aemond snaps. 

“ Not enough!” Alicent sighs, “ In no world should I have had to be afraid of letting her go in fear that I would not see her again. She has accepted her death, Aemond. How far out of love have you fallen with her to the point where your wife greets death openly?” 

Aemond doesn’t bother with a reply because he’s already on his way out of the door. His pounding steps reverberate through the empty halls and the tremble of panicked breathing surrounds him. Fear nearly eats him alive as he reaches the door to your marital chambers. Never has he been terrified to open those doors to the sight of you. He had never once feared  finding you dead, but now he has. Slowly but surely, Aemond pushes the giant oak open. He spots you knelt on the balcony in your nightdress, looking up at the stars. Lark lay whining at your side until she hears Aemond shuffle forward. Much to Aemond's surprise, the hefty beast that once worshiped him as you did, bared its teeth to him. 

            "Please.." Aemond wasn't sure if he was pleading to Lark to let him pass or to the gods for your life. Either way, the Hyena was the first to answer him. Lark moved aside slowly so that Aemond may pass, but still kept defense from a ways away.

“I-” Before a word can even escape his lips, you’re lurching forward. Aemond rushes forward and sinks to his knees to hold you. The convulsions of your stomach can be felt as he circles your waist. 

“ I’m so sorry, my love, please.” The cold wash of fear grips his spine as blood and flowers paint the floor. He has no idea what to do. You’re not saying anything or doing anything to cease the onslaught of terror, yet you’re not pushing him away either. On the contrary, you’ve tangled your fingers with the hand he has over your stomach. 

“ I love you. I’ll always love you.” Aemond croaks helplessly into your hair as you lean back against him. It’s too late, you had once said. It seems that the universe had agreed. Your breathing rattled to a stop and the grip of your hands weakened.  “ I love you. Forever and Always. I promise.” Aemond whispered, pressing a salt-soaked kiss to your temple as he felt your heart slow. The thump that once echoed through your back onto his own heart stuttered to a stop, and with it so did Aemond’s world.

Part 2

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Sukuna was a long forgotten God, one with only one true devotee left. And he would do anything to keep his high priestess safe.

NSFW God!Sukuna x HighPriestess!Reader. lots of religous refences and symbolism, heads up. also full of Mahito slander. an attempted (and failed) assult attempt. Blood kink if you squint. I believe thats it for TWs. 18+ only minors DNI, reader is AFAB and uses she/her. i wrote this while very very drunk. no beta reader, we die as men. no editor we die as fools.

On the edge of the village, deep in the woods, across the river and past the graveyard, there stands a long forgotten temple. Though, “stands” is pretty generous these days if you were being honest with yourself. The temple had fallen into your family's care you don't even know how long ago. That record had long since been lost to time, as well as any record of the temple even standing, thanks to your 7 times great grandfather. Your family had at one point taken great pride in maintaining the temple, but, since sorcery came to your extremely small village and took over as the dominant religion, running a temple of any sort could have gotten you killed. 

And your family just so happened to worship Sukuna, a god deemed the worst of the worst by the sorcerers. It made maintaining the temple almost impossible. And with the death of your father, you were left as the last of your bloodline. The last person that would ever care for that holy ground. These are the thoughts that plagued your mind as you made the hike to what you genuinely considered to be your safe space. The place that your mind summoned when you closed your eyes and envisioned home. You grunted as you opened the door, noticing that it was starting to stick again. Yea, the winter was coming. That checked.

The only thing that stood truly tall in this church for a heretic was a 7ft tall marble statue, representing the visage of your god. At least you think it did. You’d never met the man (being?) personally. “I’m sorry I’m late my lord,” you muttered softly to the marble as you knelt by the altar in front of it. You’d taken to talking more casually to Sukuna these days. Despite being a literal God, he was the only being (entity?) you had ever felt comfortable talking to. “Mandatory worship ran late today, though, I suppose there's nothing new there.”

Despite the relationship a priestess should have with her deity, you had taken to almost considering Sukuna to be a friend of yours. Should you do that? Probably not. But, as far as you knew, you were the last person in the world that worshiped this God, and as far as you were concerned, that met you got to decide how best to honor him. 

You spoke freely with the god as you placed the offerings on his altar, a long ornate table with a plush velvety cloth running along its length. The offerings were nothing special. Some roses from your garden, a few gold you were able to spare, and some coffee. You had brought enough for 2 cups, enough to share. As you placed the offerings, you swore the statue behind the table warmed, the energy in it changing from cold stone to something with more life in it, as if Sukuna himself had awoken to spend yet another evening listening to you.

Of course, you had no way of knowing that was literally what was happening. It had become how Sukuna kept track of the days, marking each one with a visit from his high priestess. He watched from the statue's eyes as you curled up at its base with your coffee and a book. He noticed a cup next to him. 

“Oh, how cute.” he thought to himself, “We’re sharing coffee now…I used to kill people.” he groaned to no one, rolling his eyes inside the stone.  It annoyed Sukuna to no end how long it had been since he’d been summoned. It wouldn’t take much, her unshakeable faith in him had kept him relatively strong. A blood sacrifice was all he was asking. Any trivial reason would do, any excuse to escape this miserable marble. He resented your however many great grandfathers for burning the information on how to properly worship him.

“Mahito came to ask for my hand in marriage again today.” you told your god as you sipped your coffee.

“Oh, this fucking guy again.” Sukuna growled. That failed science experiment of a man had been harassing you for months now. “I’ll slaughter him for you. Just let me out of this marble hell.”

“He said I couldn’t keep denying him forever.”

“Yes you can.”

“I told him I very well could.”

“Good.”

“Then he told me that no one else in the village wanted me. And that if I keep this up I’d just die an old hag.” you sighed into your cup.

“I’d rather you die a hag than touch him.” Sukuna scoffed. He couldn’t imagine his last priestess being violated by that unloved rag doll. 

“I said better a hag than his wife. I’d rather cut my hand off than touch that breathing corpse.”

“Atta girl.” Sukuna smiled. He didn’t know if you felt his influence that strongly or if you were just inherently on the same wavelength as him. Whatever the case was, He couldn’t remember liking any of his other followers quite as much as he liked you. Not that he’d ever admit it. For him, an immortal god of war and death, to care for a mortal was disgraceful at best and a sin unto itself at worst. Still, he knew a part of him would mourn you when your inevitable last breath escaped you. 

“Honestly my lord, every day I come just a little bit closer to faking my death and running to live the rest of my life here, away from the village.” you announced, agitation lacing your voice. Honestly, Sukuna wasn’t against the idea. At least then he’d always have you near. “I know it’s my duty to bear children so your worship continues after I'm gone, but the men in this village are truly insufferable my Lord! Couldn’t you send me just a half decent one? I’ll settle for one that showers!”

Yeaa, that wasn’t really in Sukuna’s wheelhouse. Besides, He’d given up long ago on his worship being continued after you were gone anyway. He wished he would find a way to tell you that. That he’d rather have no followers than a follower that came from any of those filthy fucks touching you. He thought for a moment, then summoned what he hoped was a sign. 

“Oh! A spider friend!” you laughed as you noticed a garden spider crawling up your leg. You took it in your hand, knowing Sukuna was historically considered the father of spiders due to his many arms and eyes. “I must have said something you liked, hmm?” you purred, gently placing the friend at the statue's base. “Does this mean you will send me someone?”

Sukuna decided that signs were utterly ineffective against humans, because everytime he sent one they fucked it up. He’d have to just spell it out for her. And he would! If she would just SUMMON HIS CORPOREAL FORM, FOR FUCKS SA-

“Oh dear, it’s getting late isn’t it? “ you muttered, packing up your things. “I should return home…” you never wanted to. As far as you were concerned, this was home. Here, in the woods you grew up in, hidden by the walls you had entered every day since you came to age, next to possibly the last idol of your god left in the world. But, sadly, if you choose to just up and leave, people would look for you. And you couldn’t risk them coming here. 

“Goodbye, my lord.” you muttered, moving around the altar, stretching on your tip toes and still only managing to kiss his sculpted robes. You chuckled to yourself. The sculpture was so nice, even all these years later you still expect the cloth to give at your touch. 

“Goodbye Y/n.” Sukuna sighed as he watched you ready yourself to leave. So ends another day. You gathered your things and made your way back to your little cottage at the edge of your village. 

~~~~~~

The walk back to your place was as uneventful as ever. It was peaceful even. The moon was full and bright, lighting your way easily through the dark woods, and you didn’t even feel a little spooked when you passed through the graveyard. But, that wasn’t really anything new. You always felt more confident after visiting Sukunas altar. It may have sounded crazy to others (I mean, it sounded a little crazy to you,) but you swore you could feel your Gods protection as you walked home.

That was until your cottage came into view. You didn’t know why at first, but when it came into view your blood turned to ice. Your body instinctively stopped, knowing the danger before your brain did. Why were you so scared? Then it hit you. The lights were on inside. You never leave the lights on when you leave your home. Hell, you barely had the lights on when you were home, they were far too bright and you could think of nothing more opposed to your soul than sitting with them on when they didn’t need to be. That's what candles and table lamps were for, not the main light.

So then why the fuck was the main light on? Your body went into defense mode, which..was honestly just the symptoms of a panic attack coming on. Your mouth became a desert, your stomach threatened a violent revolt, and your heart decided to run a marathon. You could feel spiders crawling up your spine, as if they were telling you to walk away. Don't go in there, return to the safety of your shrine. But when you touched your spine, you found nothing there. 

Your entire being was shouting at you to turn around, That that house held something dangerous inside. But you had never been one to listen to your instincts. And you had contraband in there. Journals filled with your day to day activities. Including your worship habits. Confessional after confessional sat on a bookshelf in your living room. How could you have been so foolish? You mentally apologized to your ancestors for being angry at them with burning ancient texts, and ran to your demise. 

You honestly should have been less surprised by what you found. “Oh, Y/n. You're home.” Mahito greeted you, looking up from one of your many journals as you walked into your living room. Your eyes didn’t meet his though. You were more focused on the knife shining in his free hand. That didn’t come from your kitchen. Why did he have it? Mahito was more than annoyed now. He was standing in your home and yet you still had the audacity to ignore him? He closed the book with a soft thud and stood up from your couch, walking over to you.

Suddenly, you were forced to make eye contact with his cold mismatched eyes. He had grabbed you by your cheeks and forced you to look at him, his grip tightening as you struggled to move away. “My my Y/n…look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into now.” he sighed.

“Let me go!” you demanded. He pulled you closer.

“But I can't do that dollface. You’ve been practicing curse worship! I should report you to the church, you know that right?” he faked a sigh, his voice dripping with pity, but his eyes enjoying your pain a little too much.

“No! You wouldn’t do that! You hate the church as much as I do!” you gasped as he brought the knife to your face.

“No, you’re right. I wouldn’t, and I do. It would be much more efficient to just kill you myself, then show your diaries to the church as a defense.” you hated the fact that he’d get away with your murder by showing the church leaders some bound paper, but..it was still a fact that he would.

“Mahito, please..” you whimpered.

“Please what doll? Make a deal with you?” he asked, pulling your body unwillingly closer to his. He nestled the cool steel of his hunting blade into your cheek, and became all too preoccupied with your chest. “We could do that..but of course, I’m going to want something for my silence..”

Oh, fuck that! If you were going to die anyway, you were gonna die fighting. You Violently shook your head, freeing your face from his grasp and cutting your cheek in the process. You reached up and grabbed his knife by the blade, not even feeling it slice your hand open as you rammed your forehead into his nose. The pain that pulsed through Mahitos skull in electric waves forced him to stumble back.  

“You fucking cunt!” he roared, regaining his balance. But, you were already out the door, running for your life to the woods. When nowhere else was safe, your shrine was.  You could hear Mahito stumbling after you, determined to finish what he started. You began to pray with everything you had that you’d at least survive the night. Not that you needed to. The moment you had felt you were in danger, Sukuna had been hyper aware of you. 

In his current state though? His hands were all but tied. All he could do was will you to his side, and hope the temple would scare him off. He watched as you burst through the temple door, almost knocking it off of its old hinges in your desperation. His outlook on the situation greatly approved as he saw the crimson dripping from you. 

“My lord!” you yelled despite yourself, running to the shrine. 

“Look at you, you pathetic wench! Calling out for a god that doesn't even exist!” Mahito yelled as he entered the temple behind you. You fell onto the table, your bleeding face and hand in the offering altar. “And now, you’re going to die here, screaming for help that won’t come!”

“Sukuna!” you yelled, not entirely sure why. It seemed to work though. While normally there was supposed to be more showmanship and bravado involved with summoning Sukunas corporeal form, he’d make an exception all things considered. The candles in the temple all went out as an ice cold wind blew through the thin walls, and lighting cracked the sky, so violently even Mahito had to pause to take notice.

The very foundation of your small temple began to shake, causing the roof to rain down spackle. You covered your head with your arms, blocking the view. “What the, who the fuck are you!?” you heard Mahito yell in confusion as the smell of pine and iron filled the room,

“I’m the God that doesn’t even exist.” a rough unknown yet familiar voice said. It was like a poisonous honey, sweet with the promise of death. “And you're in my temple. Harassing my high priestess. And I can not let that slide.” No fucking way. You thought to yourself. You opened your eyes to see the back of an impossibly tall, muscular man. He was covered in tattoos, with too pretty to be on him pink hair. Oh, and he had four arms.  Is that?..

“Oh, are you now?” Mahito asked, ever the incredulous one. “Well then, what are you going to do about it?!”

“I’m going to kill you.” Sukuna said, deciding that sugar coating it would be a disservice to both of them. I guess Mahito didn’t see that the man in front of him was seven feet tall, or that he had four arms. Or maybe Mahito forgot this was a Sukuna fic, and he was the villain. We don’t know what went through his head. What we do know is he ran at Sukuna, knife up ready to kill. He didn’t get very far though. Sukuna grabbed him by the throat the moment he was in arms reach.

“You don’t listen very well, do you punk?” Sukuna asked as the small man struggled for air in his hands. “I didn’t expect you to. My priestess has told me all about your refusal to take no for an answer.” Sukuna pulled Mahito close to him, getting a good look at his face. He was far less than impressed. “I don’t like it when others try to play with things that are mine. And you’re notorious for that.”

His claws dug deeper, drawing blood. Sukuna watched as horror filled the blue haired man’s eyes, and it sent a rush of blood straight to his head. He grinned. Gods, he missed this. “Not only that, but after harassing my girl, you come to my temple and disrespect me. I was going to make this quick at first,” no, he wasn't. “But now? I think I’ll take my time.”

You covered your eyes again as your God got to work, not wanting to see his bloody creative process. Mahitos screams were unlike anything you had ever heard before or would ever hear since. The sounds of someone begging for mercy, then for help, then for death is a sound that becomes etched into the human soul. You wanted to feel bad for him, but you couldn’t help but feel like he deserved it. 

It felt like hours before the man had finally fallen silent. In the quiet aftermath, you heard footsteps coming toward you. “Are you hurt?” the man (being? entity?..deity?) from before asked, noticeably less edge in his voice. You felt a heavy hand rest on your shoulder, and you finally opened your eyes. “It’s..it’s really you.” you muttered softly. Sukuna gave a sly grin.

“In the flesh,” he confirmed. You quickly remembered your place under him, and scrambled to your knees to pray. You..should have taken worship waaayyy more seriously than you had. 

“Oh, don’t do that.” Sukuna scoffed. You had been far too casual with him in the past to start doing shit like that now. It felt unnatural. “Look at me Y/n.” he demanded. You were not one to refuse an order when given to you by a god. You looked up at him with giant doe eyes that would have pulled on his heartstrings if he had one. He inspected your cheek, brushing the blood away with his thumb. Disgust filled his blood as he realized someone else had left their mark on his shrine maiden. But, at least they did a shit job of it. It wouldn’t scar.

“Hand” he said, extending his own. You placed your injured hand palm up in his clawed one. He inspected the cut, maybe a little longer than he really needed too. It always fascinated him the way humans bleed and how easily they did so. That liquid crimson gave them life, and yet they were always so quick to lose it. He brought your palm to his surprisingly soft lips, kissing the wound gently. And bringing you to your feet. Your blood tasted sweet to him. He wondered what else tasted sweet.

For the first time you got a good look at the deity you had been worshiping. He looked at you with four maroon eyes, burning into yours. Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but mentally compare him to a puppy. Ok, well, maybe not a puppy. More like a fighting dog. All of his features held the pain of war, his clenched jaw, his muscular body, the way his very presence demanded and commanded fear, the cold steel he held in his eyes. Even so, beyond all that cold steel and rage, his eyes held a softness you had no way of knowing was reserved for you.    

“Thank you.” you whispered, finally finding your breath. You forced yourself to look away from Sukuna.

“For what?” he asked, though he already knew your answer. 

“For, well..I mean..” you vaguely gestured over to the pile of red goo formerly known as Mahito.

“Killing him?” Sukuna asked, raising a sculpted eyebrow at you.

“Yea..” you gulped, looking over at the massacre, then down. They were gonna need a sponge to get him into his funeral… “You took care of a major problem for me..”

“I know.” It was like you had forgotten all those conversations you had with him. Or you didn’t realize he heard them all, even through the thick barrier of the marble. “Don’t be confused mortal, I didn’t do this just for you. He was a  problem for me too.” you suddenly felt embarrassment explode in your chest.

“O-oh, of course! How silly of me to think that a divine being would sully their hands just for me, I think I must forget myse-”

“Stop that.” Sukuna tsked, shutting you up instantly. “Were you not listening earlier mortal? He was a problem for me because he wanted to possess you. And I don’t like it when entitled fucks try to touch what’s mine.”

Oh. He considered you to be his property. You supposed that checked out. You had dedicated your life to him after all. “I just..I can’t believe you're real.” You muttered despite yourself. That almost offended Sukuna.

“That so? So tell me then, do all humans make a habit of bringing their imaginary friends offerings, or are you just the odd one out here Y/n?”

“Oh, come on, you’re a God! You know that's not what I meant!” you argued, forgetting that it wasn’t your friend you were arguing with, but a literal god of death, destruction, ruin and war. Someone that could tear you asunder with just a flick of their wrist. “I ment like…I can’t believe you're here and well…real! In the flesh! Something corporeal that I can touch and not just a distant entity..”

Sukuna was smirking at your little outburst. This is how he loved you. When you forgot where you stood before him. “I assure you darling, I’m real.” he promised, amusement leaking into his voice.

“But you shouldn’t be.” You reminded him, “So, It’s hard to believe..” your body froze as you realized Sukuna was walking closer to you. He stood mere centimeters away from you. You felt suddenly overwhelmed with his presence, he was suffocating, filling your senses with nothing but him. A divine sense of warmth and a blood chilling sense of dread and danger. He leaned down, his face so close you could feel his hot breath wash over you.

“Do you want me to prove to you just how real I am?” he asked. Your brain couldn't register the question. You were too focused on mentally tracing the lines on his face.

“I-I..” you mutter, looking for words other than may I please see your cock my lord, I want to see if it’s tattooed as well.

“I-I-I,” Sukunas mocking forced you back into focus, “What’s wrong pet? Deity got your tongue? What happened to all that tough talk from earlier?” Sukuna cooed mockingly.

“Would it be sacrilegious if I touched you, my Lord?..” you muttered softly, your mouth spitting out words your brain gave it no permission too. Sukuna grinned, your words going straight to his dick. 

“Oh, most definitely.” He promised, closing the gap between you two. His hands found your hips, rubbing circles into them with his thumbs as he pulled you closer to him. His touch sent static to your core. “I'm no fertility God, fucking isn’t typically allowed in my temple.” fucking. He said it as an insult. “In fact, the very act of you lusting for me like this is considered sacrilegious.”

You felt dirty. You should have known better. Fantasizing about a supreme being in their own temple, how shameless were you? Not to mention self absorbed, thinking a God would be intimate with a lowly mortal like you. You suddenly become hyper aware of his every touch.

“But, I’ll make an exception for my favorite shrine maiden.” he purred into your ear, his head dipping down to kiss your neck, one of his unoccupied hands coming up to move your head to give him more room to work with. If his touch was static, then his kiss was pure lighting. Any thoughts that you shouldn’t be doing this melted from your mind as you relaxed into his arms. A soft purr escaped your lips, bringing a grin to his face.

His last free hand moved in between the two of you, finding the waistband of your skirt. A small gasp left your mouth as he slipped his clawed hand under it, using said claw to cut a slit in your underwear right where your folds are. You felt your heart race with anxiety and excitement as he ran his long fingers along your slit. 

“So needy, aren't you pet?” he groaned softly. “I’ve barely even touched you and you're already dripping for me. So cute.” He mocked, his finger brushing against your nub. You whimpered softly, trying to move your hips for more friction, but his hands held you still. Curse him for having four arms, and curse your monsterfucking heart for being so into it.

“All for you..” you muttered softly, “Please...I-I need your touch my Lord..” Embarrassment burned you as you spoke. “I beg..” Your words went straight to Sukunas already hardening cock. The way you whined for him, like a desperate sinner begging for forgiveness. As if his touch and his touch alone could save you from damnation, when in reality, it was your one way ticket to hell. 

Sukuna moved your head so he could get a better look at your still bleeding cheek, licking the blood away as he finally began to massage your swollen clit. Ecstasy pulsed through you as you moaned out your god's name. “You like that, don't you Heathen?” Sukuna taunted you, adjusting to slip his finger inside you, rubbing his thumb against your nub. You nodded dumbly, focusing on how he seemingly instantly found your G spot. “It’s so good..” you muttered.

Sukuna held back a laugh. Of course it was good. He knew your body better than any mortal man ever would, before he even touched you. He slipped another digit into your weeping pussy, forcing a moan from you. “Look at me Y/n.” He demanded. You forced your eyes open, unsure when you even closed them. You stared into his molten crimson eyes, an intensity drilling into your soul that forced you into submission. 

Sukuna licked his lips as he stared into your tear pricked eyes, watching you desperately try to keep it together while he pumped his fingers into you. You looked even better than he ever could have imagined. And you we’re only going to look prettier the more fucked out you got. He caught your lips in a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth before you could even register what was happening. 

You moaned softly into his kiss, losing yourself in him. He was all consuming. His lips were soft and plump, his fingers moved with expert skill, between the electric storm forcing your toes to curl and the fiery passion that filled your head with smoke, you forgot everything that wasn’t Sukuna. You could feel a knot forming in your stomach, threatening to break. His thumb focused on your clit, switching from lazy half circles to massaging with precision and purpose. A moan ripped out of your lungs and you felt your breathing become more labored. 

“Sukuna, I-I’m,”

“I know you are.” Sukuna growled, focused on bringing you over the edge. He could feel the way your walls clenched around him, the way you gushed around his claws. The sound was obscene. “Cum for me darling,” he ordered, his mouth latching onto your neck to leave evidence of his ownership there.

It was as if your body didn’t know how not to follow the deity's command. The knot inside you snapped, waves of pleasure crashing into you and pulling you under as your cunt convulsed around his fingers. His name ripped its way out of your lungs as ecstasy shot through you, your vision turning white hot. Sukuna finger fucked you through your high, feeling his dick ache for you as he watched your blissed out face contour with pleasure.

“That's it slut,” he purred, “Cum all over your god.” you whimpered as your body finally relented, letting you look up at him. You’d never cum that hard on your life. Was this what it was like to be intimate with divinity? He removed his fingers from your dripping pussy and sucked them clean, humming in satisfaction. “You taste just as good as I thought you would.” he praised. 

“Thank you my lord..” You muttered, unsure what else to do here. 

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, Pet.” Sukuna laughed. “I've waited for centuries to be summoned into my physical form, and I’ve waited far too long to fuck you to let you tap out now.” He chuckled darkly. He should be more embarrassed, frankly, That he was a God, a being of pure divinity and holy spite, that was desperately lusting for a human. But he was also the last of his kind. Who the hell was there for him to be embarrassed for? “On your knees, slut.” He growled.

You feel to your knees without having to even think about it. It was honestly your natural position in this holy temple. Sukuna looked down at you, on your knees, your head bowed before him, as if in the middle of prayer. It made his already impossibly hard cock twitch, desperate to sully you even further. It was times like these Sukuna wondered if he was really a god or just a demon parading around like one. 

Doesn't matter. He rid himself of his robe, finally freeing his straining cock. “Look up.” He commanded you. You did so, your eyes filling with shock as you came face to face with the cock that was going to ruin you. Your innocent eyes widened as you forced yourself to look away from his dick and make eye contact with the devilish deity. He looked down at you with dark eyes.

“Don’t be so frightened. You can handle this.” He assured you, grabbing the back of your head and urging you to take him in. you licked your lips and wrapped your mouth around him, determined to please your god. Sukuna had a pretty cock, long and far thicker than you would have expected. And yes by the way, it was tattooed, just like the rest of his body. You sucked on his leaking pink tip, your hands moving to massage the prominent vein on his shaft. You moved to take as much of him in your mouth as possible, your hand handling (ha) everything that wouldn't fit. 

Sukuna tangled his clawed hands into your hair, his hips rutting into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. You gagged around him, pulling a satisfied moan from Sukunas lips. You could feel the intensity of his eyes drilling down into you. You imagined this is what a bunny felt like when spotted by a wolf. You willed your eyes to look up at him, and felt ice run down your spine and straight to your soaking cunt. All four of his eyes were blown to hell with lust, a burning need to touch you in ways no mortal ever had before. If he had it his way, you’d be addicted to ‘worship’ before the night was over.

“That's right pet, just like that.” he praised you, before very abruptly slamming his entire length into you, forcing you to gag around him. “Your mouth feels so good princess,” He cooed, looking down as tears began to stream from your face. You’d think that may have slowed him down, but in reality it had the very opposite effect. Sukuna had never seen anything sexier. It set an explosion off in his blood and mind. He was suddenly done playing.

He pulled you off his cock, groaning at the sight. You looked up at him with a tear stained face, confusion in your red eyes, a string of spit connecting your puffy lips to his cock. He wanted to paint a picture of the scene and hang it in a museum. Wanted to frame the work of art and hang it in every temple that had ever been dedicated to him. He pulled you off the floor and into his arms, carrying you to the sturdiest wall his temple had left.

“M-my lord?..” you asked weakly. His touch burned your body in all the most exquisite ways. The feeling of being touched and desired by that was untouchable was forever engraved into your mortal flesh. He pushed you up against the wall, two arms holding you up and two arms ripping off your blouse. “M-my lord,” you tried again, “Should we really-”

You were cut off by an absolutely sinful moan ripping from your throat as Sukuna's mouth wrapped around your hardening nipple. His now free hands we’re bunching your skirt around your hips, finishing the job from earlier and ripping your panties in 2. Anxiety and excitement exploded in your chest as you felt the tip of his cock glide along your folds. Two hands continued to hold you up, one finding your exposed breast and massaging it while the final hand intertwined itself with your injured palm. Salt from sweat filled your open wound, stinging it and spilling blood into his own hand.

“Beg for me Princess.” He demanded, teasing your entrance with the head of his dick.

“Please! Please fuck me Sukuna!” you panted out, trying to grind your hips down onto him, desperate for any friction. A desire unlike any you had ever known overtook you. “Please! Fuck me, I need it. Leave your mark on me, fill me, do whatever you want to me, but please I need your cock inside me.”

Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little taken aback by just how vulgar his little shrine maiden could get. He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t beyond into it. “Look at me.” He demanded, holding your gaze as he finally lowered you onto his throbbing cock, pulling you down to his hilt. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he split you open in the most delicious way. Your head back as you savored the burn he sent through you. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” Sukuna groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he lost himself in your warm velvety walls. He would have cum right then and there if he was any closer to mortality than he already was. “I’m going to mold this cunt to my cock.” He said, pulling back just to slam you right back down onto him. He set a ruthless pace, slow yet hard. He wanted to take every moment of you that he could. You moaned out his name as a broken prayer, dragging your nails down his back to try and ground yourself in reality. Nothing was real about this.

“‘So good…” you moaned, unable to form words.

“I know.” He chuckled darkly, quickly deciding his favorite version of you was the fucked out one. “What kind of god would I be if I couldn't please my priestess?” he hummed, littering marks wherever he could on your neck. He squeezed your thighs tight enough to leave bruises, and made sure to brush your g spot with every stroke of his cock. An unholy symphony of your sounds filled the once holy temple.

You could feel your skin heating up as electricity coursed through your blood. You lost sight of everything that wasn’t the divine cock punishing your pussy for every sin you had ever committed. You tangled your free hand into his hair. Trying and failing to catch your breath as a now familiar knot formed inside your abdomen. 

“Fuck, Y/n,” Sukuna moaned, catching your lips with his. “You’re taking me so well, it’s almost like this cunt was made for me. What do you think Pet?” He asked with a particularly hard thrust to your cervix. You nodded without thinking.

“Yes! Yes, lord, yes!” you moaned breathlessly. Sukuna grinned, looking down at you through half lidded eyes.

“I was hoping you’d agree.” he moaned, his hand slitting itself in between the two of you and rubbing calculated circles into your clit. You screamed out his name at the added stimulation, so close to the edge it hurt. 

“Oh God, I- fuck..” You spoke through broken moans.

“Look at you, calling for me like a whore when I'm right here.” Sukuna mocked, “Still doubting if Im real or not?” if you could have formed a thought, you would have said ‘no my lord, not any more.’ but at that moment, your brain only had one thought.

“I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum, please, let me cum-” you begged for him.

“Cum for me darling.” He moaned, basking in the way you came undone around him. The way your pussy squeezed him was divine, your legs locking him in place as he rocked into you, helping you ride out your right. He was lost in the way you felt, your pleasure the greatest offering he’d been given. Euphoria and ecstasy washed over you in intense waves, so much so you thought you might suffocate. It was overwhelming in all the best ways. 

Sukuna felt you gushing around him and couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He came undone, spilling his divinity into you in white hot spurts. Your fluids mixing together as Sukuna fucked his holy seed back inside you, riding out both of your highs.

You went limp in his arms, his head rested on your shoulder as you both struggled to catch your breath. “My god..” you muttered softly.

“Yes?” Sukuna asked with a light chuckle. You softly hit his shoulder, as if that was going to do anything. He pulled out of you, letting the warm fluids drip down your legs. He adjusted your position in his arms. Holding you bridal style as he walked you over to his altar, arguably the most comfortable place in his table. He laid you down as if you were an offering to him, holy and sacred in your own right. 

He chuckled when he saw you reach out for him. He was going to ignore you, but cuddled up beside you on the table despite himself. He couldn’t get enough of your mortal warmth.  It was comfortable having you in his arms. He could get used to this. How bad could fucking your last devotee be anyway? He liked this.

“The townspeople are going to surely ask about Mahito.” you muttered. You had to ruin it, didn’t you?

“Don’t worry about them darling.” Sukuna muttered, pulling you closer to him in hopes of lulling you to sleep. 

“How can I not, my lord?” you asked with those innocent eyes Sukuna was growing to love and loath.

“Because in the morning I’m going to burn your village to the ground with everyone in it.” Sukuna didn’t mince words. You were his follower, you knew what he was about.

“Oh, I see.” you nodded, not bothering to talk him out of it. You didn’t want to talk him out of it.

“Yes. so get some sleep Darling. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” he said, pulling you into his chest, keeping you more than warm while you slept.

[chvnnie]

bby how about lee know x temperature play 😳

ANYWAY ANY COMPLAINTS CAN BE SENT TO MY ASKS BECAUSE I DESERVE SO MUCH SLANDER FOR THIS ONE

SMUT — MINORS DNI

Minho has twisted ideas of pleasure.

Things you haven’t even considered tend to be his favorite. Thoughts he’s fed for years, ideas that have kept him up at night. Some practiced, some yet to be attempted. His head is always spinning, filed full of the most sinfully delicious ideas. So whenever he says —

“Close your eyes.”

— and puts that silk blindfold on you, your heart jumps into your throat on instinct. Fear and excitement getting muddied together, the hot and cold feelings causing your breath to quicken.

He only uses the blindfold for new things. Not for anything you’re used to. It causes your hand to shake in his, taking slow steps in whatever direction he’s chosen. He spun you around once your eyes were covered, taking away your sense of environment. It’s going to be better if you’re clueless. Helpless.

“Stop.” Minho whispers, a hand on your lower back. You do as he says, standing completely still as your partner walks away from you.

Your senses are your best friend. A creak, a click — actually, more than one. Six, it seems. A brief smell of something smoky. It’s all too hard to place, hands on your head as you try to process what’s happening. Where you’re at.

Another creak. And then there are hands on your hips, causing you to jump in surprise.

His chuckle is low. “Calm, angel. You’re going to like it, I promise.” Warm hands creep up your sides, wrapping around your back to unsnap your bra. As the cool air brushes against your nipples, causing them to pebble, his hands smoothing run down your back. Hooking your panties, body chilling as he pulls them off.

You can feel his head by your thighs. He must have squatted.

“Turn for me.”

Commands are always followed with Minho. As twisted his ideas of pleasure are, even more so are his ideas of punishment.

Slowly, you spin, letting him get a good look at your body. Once you believe you’re facing him again, you stop. Rewarded with two butterfly kisses, one on each thigh.

“Perfect, perfect girl.” He mumbles against your skin, causing goosebumps to erupt. His hands start to move again, up the back of your legs and finding home on your ass, where he squeezes once before standing — and lifting you along with him.

Gently, you’re transferred a hard, cold surface. The chill makes you flinch and gasp, legs coming up involuntarily. You hear Minho click his tongue before grabbing both your ankles, pulling them down and dragging you on the surface.

“Move again and you’ll get my belt.” He’s not in the mood to play around today.

“Yes sir.” You say softly, nodding your head to emphasize understanding.

Leather clasps your ankles, bounding you to what you’ve come to find is a table. Judging on how you’ve been stretching out, possibly the dining room one. Long and wide, perfect to spread your limbs out completely. Similar cuffs wrap around your wrists, body like an x.

Questions make your head spin. Why are you bond? Why are you on the table? But before you get a chance to breathe them, you feel your partner’s fingers on your face. Taking the blindfold off.

Your assumption was correct — it is the dining room table. The room is very dimly lit, eyes struggling to adjust. What is hovering above you? Squinting, you try to make out the circular shape.

When it becomes clear, a gasp of fear claws it’s way from your throat. While a joyous laugh comes from Minho.

The old chandelier hasn’t been used much. You didn’t really see the point — it wasn’t electric, and lighting candles every time you wanted to have a meal sounded exhausting. The table became more of a storage one, room abandoned in favor of eating in the kitchen or in front of the television.

Six candles. All lit, with wax slowly rolling down their sides. A drop falls, landing right in between your spread legs.

“You’ll never know when it’s about to happen.” He teases, still standing near your head. “Isn’t that exciting?”

It’s a slow burn. A method that can only be used if one of you has extreme patience. Unlikely for you, Minho could watch this all day.

Another drop, right on your belly. It’s warmer than you expect it to be, making you yelp in surprise. The next one, however, is hot. Hitting right on your left breast, cooling as it spreads across the skin. It’s then you realize the candles are red — warm blood spilling over you.

Your partner kisses your head before stepping away, eyes on the table the entire time.

“M-minho.” You whimper, hissing when a drop lands on your upper thigh. It’s too close to your core, an electric shock shaking your body.

“Hm?” He doesn’t bother to correct you. Too consumed with the distressed look on your face, eyes blown wide in a lustful fear. It’s too precious.

“It’s hot—“

“It’s wax.” He scoffs. “If you want it to stop, say so.”

Splat on your belly, on your rib, right on your nipple. That one, understandably, brings the first scream from you. Choking on your sob, you cry his name again.

“Say it, and I’ll move the table.” His dark eyes are fixed on you. Waiting. Knowing that you won’t say it, won’t end it.

Minho has twisted ideas of pleasure, and is the one who taught you pleasure. You like it just as much as him, if not more.

And truly, you do. When the wax starts to cool, spreading slowly down your body, it’s almost euphoric. Your head rolls back, softly moaning as another drop falls. On your throat. The sting is beautiful.

Eyes fluttered shut, you don’t notice that Minho has walked away. Don’t hear his steps fade, then rise in volume. The clinks of a glass. Too lost in your own head, hips bucking when wax hits your lower hip, to notice that he’s put something on the table.

That is, until the intense cold is pressed right against your clit.

Minho laughs when you cry out in surprise, body thrashing against the bindings. You lift your head to find him with an ice cube, and plenty more in a glass beside him.

“Relax.” He purrs, watching as a drop of wax lands on your upper thigh. His free hand presses into the puddle, spreading it out across the expanse of it. “Enjoy it.”

What do you focus on? The cold that’s taken over violently by heat the second you get used to it? The stinging wax that hurts just enough to be pleasant?

Minho works the ice cube down your core, massaging it around your folds. Your chest is heaving, the pleasure almost blinding. It’s better than euphoric; like you’re on another plane of existence, every nerve in your body icy hot. Every cell dancing, the frosty burn making you reel.

The cube melts, cold water running down your cunt. A drop of wax lands on your mound, mere inches from your clit, erasing the chill you were once smothered in.

Your mouth is dry, words almost impossible. All caught in your throat, overpowered before they can even make it to your tongue.

Somehow, you call his name. “Minho.”

It’s broken. Barely audible. Yet he looks up from between your legs, sweet brown eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

“Angel?”

His hands on you are neutralizing. A comfort, grounding you as the pleasure threatened to drag you away. It’s a twisted, twisted thing you’re about to ask for.

“More?”

The smile he gives is genuine, wild. Fishing for another ice cube, he lets it hover above your cunt. Drip, drip, drip the harshly cold water over you as the sweet wax burns your collarbones.

“As you wish.”

[bleue-flora]

Okay I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about discduo anymore, and I meant it. I did. But then I saw the clip of cc!Tommy [post] talking about them and a few people saying how clingy duo didn’t know that they hurt c!Dream, and how c!Dream was just this unreasonable psychopath who drove c!Tommy to want to kill himself… and well I just feel like I can’t stand by while Dream gets slandered after I was being nice to c!Tommy.

So... that brings us here, where to the best of my memory and ability, I’d like to look at c!Tommy as being part of the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum. Because here’s the thing, I’ve seen people refer to him as some golden boy, who’s caring and has a good heart, but I’m gonna just be honest, I just don’t see it. From what I can tell, we accuse c!Dream of having no empathy, but I don’t think I’ve really seen c!Tommy show any.

Now granted, I’m definitely no psychologist or whatever, and in the real world diagnosing these disorders is a very intense and extensive process. Especially because there is no true way to know whether an individual has empathy or not since we can’t exactly read their minds or feelings. So we really only have their behavior to study. Having said all that though, here’s why I actually think c!Tommy is perhaps the “psychopath” or since that term is no longer medically used, has Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) in which psychopathy is sometimes considered a subtype of.

And yes, while I am more than aware that I clearly have dsmp favorites and therefore am biased, I have to say when I was rewatching lore I didn’t expect to come to this conclusion, but something about this scene specifically in the finale bothered me.

[clip] Dream: “Why are you–why are you trying to—ruin everything all the time?” Tommy: “Cuz that was just me having fun with my friends, Dream, but I didn’t–I didn’t…” Dream: “Ah-you just stealing my shit and a—griefing my friends’ houses and breaking shit?” Tommy: “I just didn’t realize how much that hurt you.”

Because c!Tommy essentially just straight up admits to enjoying harming others. In fact, is so clueless he doesn’t grasp that killing and breaking and stealing and griefing hurts people. And like how can you possibly tell me that someone at the age of 18 years old can be so oblivious to other people’s suffering. Because he sure didn’t like it when people griefed or trapped his house, stole from him, and killed him, but somehow didn’t know that other people also didn’t like that. I mean, there’s just no way someone can be that clueless, I don’t care how old they are, even children know better than to just push their friend down the stairs because it’s funny. 

Like I don't think this is just the behavior of some flawed teenager, but of someone with a lack of empathy or ASPD, which the National Library of Medicine says this about, “Antisocial personality disorder is characterized by a pervasive and enduring pattern of disregarding and violating the rights of others, typically emerging in childhood or early adolescence and persisting throughout an individual's life. This disorder significantly impacts interpersonal and occupational functioning, often leading to profound impairments in overall quality of life. Individuals with antisocial personality disorder frequently engage in criminal behavior and struggle to learn from the negative consequences of their actions” [source], And I don’t know about you, but doesn’t that sound like c!Tommy? Even further the Millon Theory has this to say about Antisocial (ADAntis) individuals, “Prone to lessened emotional resonance and a marked lack of empathy, those individuals evidencing ADAntis patterns actively seek out what they feel is their entitlement. ADAntis individuals often feel slighted by their circumstances and believe they must take in order to receive. They are impulsive by nature and uncaring about any damage they may inflict on others or themselves” [source].

In other words, someone who does and takes without thinking of others as if they are entitled to it. A great example of this is c!Tommy just up and killing c!Purpled for no reason and stealing c!Tubbo’s resources before they battle c!Dream again for the discs, where c!Tubbo notes that c!Tommy has a ‘shit moral compass’ [clip]. There is also the stream I love to bring up of c!Tommy stealing from c!Tubbo, killing his bee and then burning his house, and not giving anything but a half assed apology of 'I didn’t mean to burn your house down that much’ and ‘I didn’t mean to kill your bee I was just giving him a high five’ [post] and that’s how he treats his best friend, one he drags into war after war. c!Tommy more than once highlights how pain is real in the dsmp whether a non-canonical death or a punch and yet shows no regard for holding back hurting others, whether that's burning c!Techno [clip] or throwing a harming potion at him when he’s found in the basement [clip], lighting c!Dream on fire with a bucket of lava on the first day of Exile [clip & clip], killing c!Alyssa just cuz she’s there and a woman [clip], stabbing c!Dream as he fills in a creeper hole in c!Tommy's yard no less [clip], how bout just dragging c!Tubbo into wars to risk his life and experience pain over some replaceable discs… etc just as some examples off the top of my head I've have seen recently. 

I mean he doesn’t seem to care about others. When c!Tubbo needs help, where’s c!Tommy, like when he goes after c!Sam after he killed his husband and kidnapped his son he teams up with all the people who have killed him. Where the freak is c!Tommy - the one he fought so many wars with. Heck in the finale, c!Tubbo charges into what might be certain death, even after disagreeing with c!Tommy and reasoning that maybe they shouldn’t kill c!Dream [clip]. Oh and then of course, I've talked about his behavior towards c!Punz in the beginning too, of him helping clingy duo and then c!Tommy plotting to stab him the next minute [post]. 

And he struggles so hard to separate the value of items over the living [clip], seen no clearer than his struggle multiple times with putting the discs over c!Tubbo. And as I talked about when looking at c!Quackity at some point, people without empathy can love but it’s more like loving chocolate where they can enjoy it but there is no consideration for a candy bar’s well-being or feelings - people are more so just there to be used than cared about, and isn’t that what he does with c!Tubbo? With c!Techno? With c!Dream? Using them as a weapon and for their resources and then tossing them aside. Certainly not having their back when they need it, something c!Techno highlights pretty well in his speech about being a person [clip].

Perhaps our biggest clue should be how revolved his character arc is about understanding the value of items and how people are more important, as he finally in the finale gives up his discs for Tubbo’s life…

I don’t know maybe I’m wrong, but all I’m saying is I have yet to see a scene that really shows c!Tommy as caring or empathic, instead I see more so the telltale signs and behavior of someone with Antisocial Personality Disorder… who’s the psychopath now? *mic drop*

[ynbabe]

TASM!Peter x Male reader- incorrect quotes

Cause that boy was fruity as FUCK and we were ROBBED! ROBBED I SAY-

Y/n: We’ll get back into there or die trying. Peter, trying to Spidey: No one’s dying. Y/n, a civilian, just trying to help: Not with that attitude.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Peter: Y/n likes to win. When he were 8, a little Club Scout friend of his bragged they could sell the most cookies. Peter: Damned if Y/n didn't walk the neighborhood till he got blisters on his feet, and won by 10 boxes. Y/n: Best part is, I wasn't even a Club Scout.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry, after someone insulted Peter: Murder literally doesn’t hurt anyone! Peter: What are you talking about? Of course— Y/n, holding out a hand to shut Peter up: No, no, he has a point—

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen: But what about Y/n? Harry: Don't worry about him. Harry: I once watched him fall down 5 flights of stairs, stand up, and keep eating his hotdog like nothing happened. Peter: Well, you were the one who pushed him.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry, professional instigator: Hi could I ask how exactly does one accidentally set a lemon on fire? Y/n, professional fool: Microwave for 40 minutes. Gwen, professional ‘my boys are stupid’ boys haver: WHY WERE YOU MICROWAVING A LEMON?! Y/n: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges, but I didn’t own any pots… Peter, currently microwaving a grape: Did you burn an orange too? HOW?! Y/n: Microwave for 40 minutes.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Peter: Small creatures are much more vicious because they have a smaller body to bottle up all their emotions. Harry: Ridiculous. Give me some examples. Gwen: Wasps? Y/n: Terriers? Peter: Y/n.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen, watching Peter and Harry fight: Are you sure they should be fighting? What if they get hurt? Y/n, not bothered by the chaos: It’s fine. They’re too evenly matched to hurt each other. Gwen: Then... who’s the strongest out of you three? Peter, with superhuman powers but a Y/n lover: Y/n. Harry,  doesn’t want Peter to kill him: Y/n. Y/n, delusional and gay: Me.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry: Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit, and wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad. Peter: That's deep. Y/n: That means that ketchup is a smoothie. Peter: That's deeper. Gwen: ...You guys are idiots

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━.

Peter: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. Gwen: No, that's not how you make cookies. Harry: FLOOR IT!! Peter: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? Gwen: yOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Peter: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Y/n: DO IT! Gwen: NO-

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen: Blue M&Ms are the best. Y/n: whAT IS THIS SLANDER? Gwen: What about it? They are. Y/n: I WILL NOT ALLOW SUCH LIES ON MY CHRISTIAN MINECRAFT SERVER! Y/n: THE RED ONES ARE THE BEST! Gwen: YEAH? WELL YOUR MOM'S A HO! Peter, trying to stop them: They're all chocolate inside, the colors don't mean anything. Harry, to stop peter from stopping them: I like the yellow ones. Gwen and Y/n: SHUT THE FUCK YOUR MOUTH!

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Peter: Why do you act like we’re three year olds? Gwen, exasperated: WHY?!? Gwen points at Y/n: YOU HIJACKED A COP CAR! Gwen points at Harry: YOU NEARLY TRIED TO KILL PETER! Gwen points at Peter: AND YOU THREW YOURSELF INTO A STORM MADE OF LIVING ELECTRICITY! Gwen: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen, in a room with Peter, Harry, and Y/n: It’s calm in here. Gwen: It scares me…

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry: *is hugging Peter* Y/n: Hey! It's my turn to hug Peter! Y/n: *grabs Peter* Harry: *pulling Y/n off Peter* What do you mean, "yOuR tUrN"? We agreed now is my time slot! Y/n: No, It's my turn! Peter: *suffocating* Guys, I love you, but just because you guys tried to kill me doesn't mean you can be hugging me to apologise constantly! Y/n: But we need the moral support! Harry: And you're small! Which is cute! Y/n: If we don't hug you right now I think our guilt will kick in and our bodies will stop functioning. Peter: *close to tears* Well- I, I guess.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Headcanons for Clive Rosfield with gn s/o reassuring him that he's a good man who does his best to help people despite everything he has gone through, they're proud of him, and they love him so much? With hugs and kisses too!

Clive Rosfield had to be one of, if not the most strongest man you’ve ever met in your life.

Yet you’ve found that the stronger the man, the more broken they seemed to be in due to certain circumstances that happened within their past.

A past that could still be felt to this very day as it clung onto your beloved’s soul, it’s claws digging in deep into him that you worried that you’d deal him more damage if you were to pull them out raw.

You wanted nothing more then to help your exhausted lover and thankfully a time did come where Clive needed your comfort and sweet words and even sweeter reminders the most in the aftermath of a nightmare;

‘What if I’m an omen of death, destined to leave a trail of dead bodies, friends and foes alike in my wake?’ Clive admitted to you under starry skies. Yet despite how ethereal the sight above was…the topic at hand was anything but. ‘What if by the end of this I wouldn’t have had you gravely harmed, whether it’d be by my hand or others because of me.’ He adds sombrely, clutching your hand when he felt it involuntarily twitch.

‘I don’t want to have to watch that day come to pass.’ Clive was whispering now as though if he raised his voice any louder then something awful would take place, and it wouldn’t even matter whether the inherent danger were to take place five minutes from your conversation or even going as far as five weeks.

For as long as Clive could sense danger, he would always on a subconscious have himself somehow incorporated into it one way or another. He truly felt the one to blame for every wrongdoing that was committed no matter the scale of it, he just felt as though all bad things tie back to him in even the most minuscule ways.

‘Clive,’ you gripped his hand tightly, ‘not everything bad is inherently your fault.’ You told him but you weren’t finished yet. ‘You’re a good man, regardless of what the past speaks of your character. You’ve done a whole lot of good since those dark times and done a whole lot of good for the people who felt as though they had no hope to hold onto, Who felt like they too were deserving of the wrongdoings that have happened in their pasts because they felt as though they didn’t deserve better.’ You raised his hand and pressed a dozen kisses against the skin there as you decided to hold his hand close to your chest.

‘You’re a good man Clive Rosfield and I will not stand in hearing you slander yourself on the pretences of lies and falsehoods.’ You said as you tug him closer so you could bring your arms to hold him against you as you began to speak your words against his ebony locks. ‘For the Clive Rosfield I know is a brave, strong man of many talents, and he’s a beautiful man with a gentle, kind and caring heart.’ You felt Clive relax further into you, as though attempting to drown himself in your warmth and your scent with how he noses it’s way from against your collar bone, and upwards until his head is firmly flushed against your neck where he would then find comfort in your pulse point as his eyes began to drift off at the sound of your soothing voice.

A voice Clive would rather die then to never hear again, whispering sweet enchantments that you call encouragement into his ear.

‘And I am proud, so very proud of my Clive that neither words nor any form of expression can begin to accurately convey of the magnitude of how proud I am of him.’ You whispered sweetly, pressed kisses now and then again his hair or any form of exposed warm skin that was within your lips reach to douse in a plethora of kisses, leaving not a spec untouched by your lips, and even as you pulled away, you could feel Clive’s body writhe as it began to desperately miss your lips; considering how determined your beloved seemed to press himself further up against you, you’d think that he was trying to imprint himself onto you in some form of way.

‘His demons may want him to claim otherwise but I wish for him to remember that he isn’t what they say he is, Clive Rosfield isn’t a monster, nor a death omen, but I know my Clive Rosfield and my Clive Rosefield is anything and everything but those words. He’s generous, brave, bold, and yes I do have to admit, a little stubborn and hardheaded.’ You admitted, chuckling as Clive removed his head from your neck to give you a look. ‘But, even though he may often claim that he’s putting me in danger just for loving him.’

You pressed your forehead against his, nudging your nose against his, smiling when he wordlessly reciprocated the action. ‘I’ve never felt more safer then I ever have then within his arms.’ You muttered against his lips before closing the gap and kissing every ounce of love and affection you held for Clive into that kiss in hopes it’d make its way to his soul. Humming in delight as you felt him practically bruise your lips with the force of his kiss that burned with a fierce passion that at some points you felt as though you couldn’t keep up with him.

You knew Clive had a whole lot of love to give to the point where it became overwhelming and consumed every action he did, from the way he protected others, to the way he was currently holding onto you as though you were the last flicker of light in his life; which you might as well be. His grip was firm and strong but while also being gentle and cautious as not to bring you bodily harm, because god knows Clive would never forgive himself if he was the main reason you were hurt, as proven multiple times where you had gotten hurt saving his ass and you’d awaken up with Clive at bedside, holding your hand within his larger and warmer ones; it felt as though your hand was trapped within the depths of a campfire. Comforting and warm.

‘What have I done to deserve you, my love?’ Clive whispered against your lips upon pulling away but consciously choosing to stay within proximity of you in hopes that your words and love would continue to rub off on him like they have for as long as you both been lovers. You smiled, bringing your hands up to his scruffy jaw, enjoying the prickly sensation that kissed the pads of your fingertips deliciously. ‘You were just yourself my star, I was just merely captivated by your beauty and the way you treated others as equals and fell deeply in love ever since.’

‘What about now?’ Clive asked you.

You pecked his lips, ‘I’m still falling my star, I’m still falling.’

[aeoki]

Swing Night - Prologue

Characters: Adonis, Kouga & Keito Season: Spring

Kouga: ♪~♪~

(Alrighty, time for another hard-workin’ day ♪)

(Things sure were a mess when “HELLSING” were involved, but “UNDEAD” could grow even bigger by absorbin’ em.)

(Thanks to that, we were performin’ and doing variety TV shows – things were super hectic, but I wanted to keep busy.)

(I’m givin’ it everythin’ I’ve got and every day feels fulfillin’.)

(My schedule’s also packed to the brim and even though I’ve just graduated Yumenosaki, I ain’t got any time to get burnt out.)

(Actually, I think I’ve been ignorin’ real life and other small stuff ‘cause I’ve been so busy… Hm?)

What the hell…? Why’re there so many people in front of the dorm entrance?

Keito: –Oogami!

Kouga: Huh? What’s wrong, frickin’ Four-Eyes? Why’d you call out my name so energetically first thing in the mornin’?

Keito: Stop slandering glasses. In fact, you should show some respect.

Kouga: The hell? Why do I have to respect glasses?

Anyway, that ain’t important. What’s with the crowd? Did somethin’ happen?

Is it a fight!?

Keito: Don’t jinx it. And wipe that excited expression off your face.

Kouga: I know. It was just a joke, geez.

Keito: Hmph. A joke? I see someone’s in a good mood. Well, I suppose things for “UNDEAD” have been looking up lately.

But it’s also precisely at times like these that people tend to ignore their footing. You must keep your guard up even after victory, or so they say.

Kouga: Huh? Why’re you actin’ like my upperclassman now?

I’ve already graduated from Yumenosaki. We’re no longer students of different grades – we’re members of society with equal standing now.

Keito: Indeed. You’re right. Welcome to society.

Kouga: I don’t care ‘bout that. Tell me what’s going on.

Keito: I’d actually like to ask you this: Have you not heard anything?

Kouga: Huuuh? What’re ya talkin’ about? Does this have somethin’ to do with me?

Keito: Look closely. They’re all paparazzi and reporters, packed into the entrance to the dorm.

Kouga: Paparazzi and reporters? Why’re they here? Seems pretty exaggerated to me. It’s like they’re here for a press conference or somethin’.

Keito: That’s a rather fitting phrase to describe it. It seems something intriguing that the public is focussing all their attention on is occurring. It appears Mr. Popular over there is in the centre of the whirlpool.

Kouga: Who? Uhh…?

Dammit, I can’t see ‘cause of the crowd!

Keito: Would you like a lift, Oogami?

Kouga: Why do you sometimes act like you’re my big brother or somethin’!? I’m a lone wolf, you hear – an only child!

Keito: Hmph. It wasn’t my intention to act like your older brother.

In any case, look. You can see a little bit when you look from here, right?

Kouga: Hmm…?

Adonis: …………

Kouga: Huh? Hey, that’s Adonis!

Keito: It is. It appears the reason for the whole fuss is Otogari this time.

Paparazzi and reporters stormed the dorm upon hearing that Adonis Otogari, a member of the popular idol unit “UNDEAD”, has a girlfriend.

Kouga: Oh, yeah, yeah. Huh. So it was just about Adonis having a girlfriend…

HUUUUH!? ADONIS HAS A GIRLFRIEND!?

Keito: Indeed. It appears they’re saying all sorts of things like how he acts like a gentleman on the outside, but he’s actually a playboy… 

Kouga: What the hell!? That doesn’t just apply to Adonis! They don’t know nothin’ and are just sayin’ whatever the hell they want!

I’m gonna go and shut their traps.

Keito: Wait! Don’t head over there, cracking your knuckles!

Calm down and stay put. You’ll just make things worse.

Kouga: But…!

Keito: Don’t worry. Anyone who knows Otogari knows what sort of person he is. He’ll prove that those were just baseless rumours.

Right now, Otogari is doing his best to earnestly deal with the situation. Watch over him if you’re his friend.

Reporter: There are rumours that you have a girlfriend, Otogari-san… Is that true?

Adonis: …………

Reporter: Well?

Adonis: No. That’s a mistake. I don’t have a girlfriend.

Kouga: (Y–Yeah~ Heheh, that’s the Adonis I know…!)

(Heheh. He’s acting so confident, so the reporters should understand that those rumours were wrong…♪)

Reporter: No, no. Otogari-san, please don’t twist words. We have quite a lot of evidence backing our claim.

Adonis: I know. She isn’t my girlfriend, but my fiance.

Kouga & Keito: ………….

Kouga: HUUUUUUUUUUH!? WHAT IN THE FRICKIN’ HELLLLLLL!?

���ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNext Chapter →

[shslskaterboy]

Perhaps one of the most egregious crimes atlus committed in p5 was the denial of Ryuji and Ann besties I think. They could’ve been so good honestly, they’ve literally known each other since middle school like. she would probably know him better than he knows himself. In my mind she’s his go-to for everything, every problem he has, every time he’s feeling down, and she is always there to listen and provide the type of advice that only a best friend can (namely telling him he’s being an idiot when he refuses to believe Akira likes him back.) And on the flip side of that he would also absolutely be her ride or die, like he would always be so supportive and willing to lend a shoulder to cry on, or and endless crepe supply for her when she needs it. He would probably also offer to kick the shit out of anyone who even remotely inconveniences her but she doesn’t want him to actually become a delinquent on her behalf so she usually will settle for crepes. Also I posit: Ann doing his hair and nails for him. That’s it that’s the thought I just think that they should hang out and it be easy and come naturally instead of atlus forcing their stupid heteronormative agenda down our throats. They should get along and want to see each other happy, they should be supportive, they should be there for each other, they should be willing to talk mad shit together, they should be best friends and I will NOT stand for any slander against this

[ambrossart]

Out of the Loop (Preview #2)

⏪ Preview #1 | FULL RELEASE NOV. 10TH

summary: eddie went home with someone after prom, and gareth is determined to figure out who it was.

pairing: eddie munson x dwm!reader word count: -- warnings: language, new relationship, eddie's girlfriend is gareth's arch nemesis, silly childhood rivalries, eddie being happy and stupidly in love, jason being an overprotective ass, chrissy being an adorable little cupcake, the reader is chrissy's best friend, the unnamed freak is named grant in this series

series masterpost | series playlist | fanfiction masterlist

Now Gareth, his resolve reignited and burning brighter than ever, was prowling the senior locker area with his suspect list in hand. 

Let them keep their secrets, he thought. I don’t need their help. A lot of help they would’ve been, anyway. Yeah, I can solve this mystery all on my own.

And he would. 

Gareth was a fantastic investigator, you see. He could win a game of Guess Who? in less than five turns and had a lifetime record of fifty-three wins and only fifteen losses (such losses were unavoidable when you drew an easily guessable character like Anita. Ugh, Anita… with those rosy cheeks and annoying blonde pigtails. His little sister beat him in only two moves after that unlucky draw). Now Gareth would apply those same deductive reasoning skills to this. Ask careful, complex questions. Gather information. Cross those ladies off one by one.

There was only one problem: the girls at Hawkins High weren’t exactly forthcoming about their personal lives, especially when it involved Eddie Munson. In fact, most girls denied ever having spoken to the guy. 

Claire Dunnock, the most recent inductee into the popular clique, was being especially difficult.

Her blue eyes shifted back and forth anxiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and then leaned forward to make sure none of her new friends were eavesdropping. Claire had to be very careful. One misstep and she would slide all the way back down the social ladder. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

Gareth sensed her unease. “Hey, relax,” he told her, “I’m not here to ruin your reputation, okay? This conversation stays between us. You have my word.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with that freak.”

“Hey, that freak is my best friend,” Gareth said. “And you and I both know that’s not true, Claire. I saw you get into his van that one—”    

Claire seized him by the arm and hissed, “Shut up!” Her eyes blazed with fearful, self-protective rage. “Look, that was a year ago, okay? I was a stupid junior who didn’t know any better. Eddie and I had a class together. I guess I got a little curious, but that’s it. We hung out once and I never spoke to him again.” Loosening her grip, she said, “Besides, he was nothing but a big disappointment, anyway.”

Anger flared in Gareth’s chest. “All right, that's it. I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you slander my friend.” 

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Claire said. 

Gareth didn’t know how to respond to that.

His jaw clenched in irritation. “Look, just answer my question, okay? Did you go home with Eddie after prom or not?”

“Of course not,” Claire answered, practically cackling at the thought. 

(Why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)

“I went to prom with my boyfriend. I was with him all night. Ask anyone.” Claire swung her locker door closed, put her hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Are we done now?” She walked off to join the rest of her friends. 

Gareth glared at her back, his insides boiling with indignation and righteous fury.

You got curious and Eddie got his heart broken. Again. 

He crossed out Claire’s name with his pen. 

Two suspects down. Eight more to go. 

He tucked his pen behind his ear, turned, and suddenly the hallway froze over! Okay, that didn’t actually happen, but a bitter wind did blow. Gareth felt it on his face as soon as he saw you step out from around the corner. 

Coincidence? 

Doubtful.

You were wearing blue jeans and a Fleetwood Mac shirt. Yeah, you would like Fleetwood Mac, Gareth thought, scoffing. As usual, you were walking side by side with Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend since elementary school. She was smiling and laughing at one of your jokes. Laughing out of politeness, probably. Why you two were friends, Gareth would never know. Chrissy was sweet like cotton candy and you were so… so…

(evil, pure evil)

rotten to the core, like moldy fruit.

“I swear,” you said with a groan, “it’ll be weeks before your mom lets me into the house again. God, she’s such a prude. How was I supposed to know she was gonna invite the whole family over for Sunday brunch? At least I was dressed up for the occasion.”

Chrissy looked at you in baffled amusement. “You were still wearing your prom dress.”

“And it was a very nice prom dress. Your grandma even complimented it. She said it made me look like Madonna.” You weren’t too thrilled about that comparison, but who were you to pass up a free compliment? “Now your mom, on the other hand… man, if looks could kill… I probably would’ve choked on one of those blueberry scones she was serving, which were a tad overbaked if I’m being honest.”

Chrissy went to her locker and fiddled with the padlock for a second before opening it. You stood patiently beside her, the wall clock barely within view. 

It was a quarter past eight, you noted with a frown. Was Eddie here already or…? 

While hanging up her backpack, Chrissy said, “Yeah, she definitely had some colorful words to describe you last night.” 

You turned your attention back to her. “Your mom called me a slut, didn’t she?”

Chrissy didn’t answer at first. She was busy unloading her homework. While she was doing that, one of her fellow cheerleaders snuck up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and gave a cheerful, heartfelt hello. Chrissy hugged her and asked how her weekend was. The two chatted casually for a minute and then the girl went on her way. Never so much as glanced at you. 

“Umm, I believe she used the word harlot,” Chrissy said to you afterward. 

“Oh, she got biblical, huh?” Great, you thought, as if that woman didn’t despise you enough already. “You know, I don’t understand your mom. First I’m too fat to be your friend. Now I’m too much of a slut. That lady needs to pick a lane and stay in it… and then drive herself right off a cliff.”  

Chrissy threw you a friendly glare.

“Just kidding,” you said. “You know I love your mom. She keeps me grounded. Without her, I might develop a healthy self-esteem, and we all know how dangerous that is. Yeah, that might lead to confidence and success… perhaps even lifelong happiness.” 

Ignoring you (or pretending to), Chrissy started digging through her backpack again. “Dammit,” she said under her breath, “I think I left my pencil case at home.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Jason has a pencil for you.” You smiled inwardly—a willful, wicked smile. “Then again…”  

Chrissy pushed her locker closed, grabbed both your hands, backed you up against the lockers, and brought her face really close to yours. “Shut up,” she whispered in half-hearted anger, a rosy blush blooming on the apples of her cheeks. 

You took one look at her and busted out laughing. Chrissy started laughing, too. 

“I hate you so much,” she said, and released you. 

“I know,” you replied affectionately. “But see, this is why the whole situation with your mom is so funny to me. I’m the one who’s still a virgin here, yet somehow it’s me who gets labeled the…” 

You spotted a familiar face down the hall. 

“Gareth?” You leaned toward him, squinting. “What are you doing in the senior locker area?”

The sound of your voice made him flinch. “Nothing,” he said, acting strangely defensive for some reason.

That’s when you noticed the piece of paper in his hand. You gestured toward it with your chin and said, “What’s that you got there? Is that a love letter? You finally asking someone out on a date? Will you go out with me? Check yes or no. Who’s the lucky lady? Wait, aren’t you a little young to be dating?”

Gareth hid the paper behind his back and glared at you. “We’re the same age.” 

“And yet I’m a senior and you’re a junior. Hmm, how did that happen?” You tipped your head and smiled at him. “You’ve got company, by the way.” 

“Huh?” Gareth stepped back and—

A hand landed on his shoulder, closed around his flannel shirt, and spun him around. Gareth jumped back, swallowing a scream. He was now standing nose to chest with Ben Jabruski, outside linebacker and two-time defensive player of the year. Eric Kordell stood beside him, smaller but no less intimidating. His brown eyes gleamed with feral, territorial aggression. 

“Get outta here, freak,” Eric said. 

Gareth squared up to him, unafraid. “Last time I checked this was a free country.” He wrenched his shirt out of Ben’s grip, careful not to tear his favorite flannel. It was a Christmas gift from his mother. 

While he was distracted, Eric reached out and ripped the paper out of Gareth’s hand. 

“Hey, give that back!” 

“What’s this?” Eric asked. He opened the paper and studied it for a minute. His expression went from amused to curious to downright furious. He crushed the list in his fist. “Why’s my girlfriend on here?” 

“Oh…” Panic shot up Gareth’s spine. He took a step back and let loose a nervous chuckle. “Oh… you must be Claire’s boyfriend. You know, I heard you two had a lovely time at prom.” 

He turned on his heel and took off running down the hallway. 

“Bye, Gareth!” you said, fluttering your fingers as he passed. Then you looked back at Chrissy with a smile. “God, I love that kid…”

You went to your locker after that, ignoring all the busy little voices, the occasional odd glance and stifled giggle you received from the other students. Chrissy followed with her first-period textbook cradled in her arms. 

“Just ignore them,” she told you. 

“I already am,” you said. 

At the end of the hallway, you spotted Chance Gallagher standing in front of his open locker, wearing the same green letterman jacket that he wore when he asked you to prom six weeks ago. Chance closed his locker and caught your eye for a moment. Then he gave you a small, apologetic smile. 

What was he apologizing for? For asking you to prom, getting your hopes up, and then humiliating you in front of the entire senior class? You weren’t sorry he did it. In fact, you were glad he did it. Yeah, you wanted to go up to him, shake his hand, and thank him for being such a spineless little worm. If he were a decent guy, your night might have gone differently, and you were quite pleased with how your night went. So thank you, Chance. Thank you for being a complete scumbag. Maybe I should write him a thank-you note. 

Smiling, you turned back around. As you did, you stole another quick glance at the clock on the wall. 

Eight-nineteen… 

You sighed. 

… and now eight-twenty. 

“He’s running late, huh?” Chrissy said. You looked her way and she flashed you a sweet, teasing smile. “I know you’re waiting for him.”

A small flush of heat tickled your cheeks, threatening to set your whole face on fire. Resisting it, you grabbed your padlock and started furiously spinning the dial: three turns to the right, one full turn to the left, another quick turn to the right, and

“Are you nervous about seeing him?”

you missed the last number and had to start all over again. 

“Kind of,” you admitted shyly. “Is that weird?”

Chrissy shook her head, her smile growing brighter and brighter. “Nope, it’s totally normal and absolutely adorable.” Giggling, she hugged her book tightly to her chest. If her hands were free, she probably would have hugged you instead. “I’m so happy for you. I really, really am. I swear, I feel like my heart’s about to burst right now.” 

“Well, you should probably see a doctor about that.” 

Chrissy stuck her tongue out at you. You did it right back, popped off your lock, and pulled on the handle. The locker door swung outward, squeaking on its hinges, and almost smacked Chrissy in the face. “Hey!” she said, laughing. She stepped back, skipped around you, and planted herself comfortably on your left side.

“So did you see him last night?” she asked, practically beaming. 

“Nope.” You slipped off your backpack and hung it on the hook. 

Chrissy squinted at you suspiciously. “Why do I feel like you’re lying right now?” 

“I’m not lying,” you told her, only to be betrayed by your blushing face. “I didn’t see him last night… technically it was this morning.” 

Twelve-o-two, to be exact. That’s when you saw the headlights flashing through your bedroom window blinds.

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.  

“What? He just stopped by to say goodnight.” You smiled softly to yourself. “It was kind of romantic, actually.” 

“Uh-huh,” Chrissy said, laughing at you. “And how long did you two say goodnight?”

“Only for an hour… and a half.”

It was raining last night. You couldn’t invite Eddie into the house, so you two hung out in his van for a while. A very long while. W.A.S.P. was playing on the stereo. Eddie had found the cassette tape while cleaning out his van that afternoon. He was very proud of this accomplishment. It was adorable. He had you listen to a few of his favorite songs, asked you about your day, told you about his, and during “Cries In the Night,” he leaned over the center console and kissed you. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. The last thing you remembered was the horn blaring. You had accidentally pressed it with your elbow.  

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.

“Stop saying, ‘Oh my god.’ You sound like my mom.”  

She had said the exact same thing after confronting you about it in the kitchen this morning. Turns out, the car horn had woken her up. Then she caught you creeping back inside through the front door. It was an awkward breakfast, to say the least. 

“That’s how it starts, you know,” Chrissy said. “Late-night visits. Long, drawn-out goodbyes. You two are gonna be inseparable this summer.” She breathed a long, lovesick sigh. “Jason and I used to be like that.” 

“You’re still like that.” 

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. 

“Speaking of…” You saw Jason Carver coming down the hallway, his pants ironed and creased, white collared shirt tucked in, a brand new Rolex glinting on his left wrist (an early graduation present from his father, apparently). He looked like a Ralph Lauren catalog model. “Is it weird that I’m picturing him naked right now?”   

Chrissy hid her face in embarrassment. “I swear to God, if you say anything…” 

“What am I gonna say to him? ‘Thank you for deflowering my best friend’? ‘I heard your penis is rather pleasing’? I don’t wanna talk to him about that. I don’t even wanna think about that.”

Prior to this weekend, you couldn’t even imagine Jason Carver having genitals. You always figured he was like a Ken doll down there. Nothing but smooth plastic.

Chrissy looked at you, mortified. “Why do I tell you anything?”  

“I have no idea,” you said. Then you checked the clock again. 

Eight twenty-three. 

Where the hell was Eddie?

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